Dear Dear Mello
by LibertyRoll
Summary: Now that Mello's gone, Near sees him everywhere. Everything he does, Mello comes to mind. Now he must deal with the aftermath of Mello's death - will he be able to and still be sane at the end? Probably not.
1. Mello's Goodbye

**Well, here we go again - Some new fanfiction for all you who care.  
I care, so I'll post it. :)**

**Unfortuneatly, I don't own Death Note, but Mello pwns at life. Haha.  
If you have the time to read, you also have the time to write me a lovely review - so please do. Praise and critique welcome. Flamers barely tolerated. :)  
**

**Enjoy.**

January 25th, 2010, Japan, SPK Headquarters. I never really enjoyed Japanese food, but that's all we currently have in the fridge, and there's no way in hell I would ever go out to the store. I'd stick out like a sore thumb, and that would be no good with Kira roaming the streets. By Kira, I do mean both L and X-Kira. If I ran into one of them, it could be trouble.

Oh well. Sushi's better than nothing. I haven't slept in days, and coffee seems to be my best friend at the moment. Geez, I wish L was here and that this was all a bad dream.

"Near, come have a look at this." Gevani says from the other side of the room. I roll over from my place on the floor in my Lego fortress and look at the screen he's pointing to.

"What is it, Gevani?" I ask.

"Well, it seems that Wammy's house is re-established."

"Oh? Well, that's not surprising." I roll back to my former position, plopping a sushi roll into my mouth. "If you think about it, they'd need to start looking for my replacement now if I die at 25 like L did."

"Near, are you okay?" Gevani asks, not unexpectedly. I am obviously run-down and tired, not to mention I keep dropping things like I did when I couldn't focus.

"I'm fine. Keep working." I command. "We need to make sure we're ready for the 28th."

A cell-phone went off somewhere in the room, apparently Halle's. I look over, wondering if it was Mello. There would be no reason in particular for him to call, but you never could tell what was going on in his head.

Halle comes over and gives me the phone and whispers "it's Mello."

"Hello?"

"Near, what's going on? You're going to meet up with Kira?"

"Yes, I'm going to meet him and end this circus."

"And you're certain that he won't kill you all?"

I accidentally drop the phone, but pick it up rather quickly. "Yes, I'm certain."

"Did you just drop the phone?"

"… yes."

"Near, get some sleep."

"I'm fine, Mello."

"No you're not. If you don't go to sleep right now, I'm coming over and knocking you out."

"You don't know where I am."

"How do you know?"

He was right, I didn't know. It wasn't impossible that Halle had told him our whereabouts. "Do you know?" I asked.

"… that's for me to know and you to find out."

"You don't."

"I have an idea."

Suddenly there's a crash in the background and I hear Mello yell, "Matt I told you, stop messing with those wires! They're not going to get any better!"

"Then get me something to do, I'm so bored!"

"Find something yourself, idiot!"

"Don't call me an idiot, idiot!"

Mello growled, but I could hear him smirking as he talked. "Anyway, don't kill yourself before Kira does. If you don't sleep, you could end up doing so."

"Mm. Tell Matt that if he needs something to do, he can get Takada out of the way."

"Takada?"

"Yeah, she's the only thing that I can't deal with and the only threat to my plan."

"… What needs to happen?"

" She just needs to be out of the way for when I meet Kira. I'll let Halle give you the details."

"Why don't you?"

"Because if I keep talking, I'm going to fall asleep and I might destroy Halle's phone."

"Fine, hand it over to her."

Complying, I hand her the phone and go into the next room. I know that it's almost two in the afternoon, and that I'll probably wake up and close to the same time tomorrow if someone doesn't wake me up first, but my brain is so dead that I don't care.

Not bothering to grab any covers, I collapse, without changing, onto a small sofa. Drifting slowly, slowly into sleep, the last thought in my mind is, "I hope Mello doesn't do something stupid."

And suddenly, he's in front of my eyes. We're back at Wammy's House; the day we found out L had died. Mello's frozen in shock, as am I. The rush of emotions to my head makes me feel like puking.

"W-what did you say?!" Mello yells in anger.

"W…what?" I mumble, and I feel myself being shaken awake.

"Near! Get up."

I know that voice. I haven't heard it in person in a while. But it sounds like my dream. Is this a dream too?

"But you said…"I mumble, attempting to curl up, but hitting whoever it is, curling around them instead.

"I know what I said, but if you don't wake up now, I'll shoot you."

"No you won't… and you said…"

"Since when do you listen to what I say? Get up!"

"Mello, stop it." Wait a minute. I shoot my eyes open. Mello? "What are you doing here?" He's sitting on the couch in front of me, a single lamp shining light across his profile, highlighting his scar. He is unusually grave, and I notice a lack of his oral fixation: chocolate.

I sit up as he looks at me. "Near, there's a reasonable chance that I'll be killed if I do this, isn't there?" he asks.

I let one leg fall off the couch and glance over to the clock. It's roughly midnight and I can feel the hair clinging to the side of my face. I must be a sight. "What's your plan?" He relays it to me in full and falls silent. We're both silent for a good while.

"Yes, there's a good chance that you will die, Mello." I say, finally answering his question.

"I'm going to put it into action as soon as I leave here, so this might be the last time you see me alive." Mello bit his nail, obviously missing the chocolate. I nod in understanding. Mello takes out a small paper from his jacket and gives it to me. It's got a small code on it: "034581, third from the left."

"I think you'll find this interesting," he says before standing up. He hesitates to walk out of the room, and instead just stands beside the couch. "Near... if I die, I blame you."

I begin to twirl hair around my fingers and yank it slightly, a nervous habit I've acquired over the years. "Why?" I inquire. "If you die, it's only because your plan is flawed."

"You refuse to take any direct action, dimwit." Mello spits. I can see a small twisted frown on his face, and I can tell that he's mixed up. "So I've gotta bail you out again, like all those years at Wammy's House." He laughs at the thought, and I turn my face from him.

I am silent for a moment. Should I tell him? Would he laugh at me? "Well, Mello," I venture. "I never asked... y-you to bail me out." I frown at my failure to remain calm. Is his possible death affecting me that much?

One particularly cold afternoon, the children were all in the common room at Wammy's House, to my great displeasure. I stayed in my place by the fire, but crowds and I do not mix easily. Usually, about ten to twelve children are in the common room, but that day, it was filled with thirty to forty kids, and the noise level had accordingly risen to unbearable decibels.

I decided it would be more peaceful anywhere in the house other than the common room, so I packed up my current puzzle and began to move towards the exit. However, I accidentally bump into one of the older kids on my way out, dropping my puzzle; I can be such a klutz sometimes.

I mumbled an apology as I bent down to pick up the pieces, but before I could complete the act, I find my head being held to the floor by some human appendage, from what I could feel, a foot.

Oh great, it was Sam.

It was always Sam.

I decided it would be less painful to wait out this humiliation than to struggle, so I froze, waiting for him to remove his foot from my head, and also concluded that a shower would follow this incident.

"Stupid Near," he jeered. "You know, it's really impolite to run into people like that."

He removed his limb from my head, and I finish picking up my puzzle pieces. I stand to leave when a muffled voice, accompanied by the crinkling of a chocolate bar wrapper, rang out from behind me. "If your ass wasn't so big, maybe that problem could be solved, Sammy boy."

Mello was sitting at one of the chess tables, beating poor Matt for the umpteenth time. Matt didn't mind; it helped alleviate Mello of his inferiority complex. I turned to look at Mello, and saw a wide smirk on his face, not to mention the crumbs around his mouth.

At Mello's jeer Sam, though not naturally well built was very tall for his age, grunted in displeasure. Compared to Sam, Mello was cool and collected; Sam, however, was a ticking time bomb, and often let his emotions get the better of him. This was one of those times.

I have found that people are generally scary when angered. I learned this from Sam, who decided that Mello would make a great punching bag at that moment. He marched straight past me, knocking me over on the way, and grabbed Mello's chocolate bar, right out of his hands, and smashed it on the ground, squishing it with the same foot he had used to press me to the floor.

"Mello, mind your own business." Sam growled to a now very pissed off Mello. "I'm just following through on what everyone in this institution wants to do."

Ouch. The hurt was only slightly dulled by the knowledge that, if not wholly, this statement was partially true. Being number one has its price

Mello smirked that smirk that I pray is never aimed at me; scary, sly, spiteful, he often got that way. "Really? You think everyone wants to be a stupid, arrogant, lazy ignoramus? Well, now, that hardly sounds right..."

Sam grabbed Mello by the collar with such ferocity that he knocked over Matt and Mello's chess table, causing the room to become silent.

"Aw, man, I was winning!" Matt cried in sorrowful denial. Mello, though tied up, laughed at Matt's outcry.

"So, what, you're going to hit me?" Mello asked, still chuckling at Matt.

Sam grimaced, tightening his grip on Mello. The thought occurred to me to step in; why should Mello get hit defending me, especially over something so trivial. But there was no need, for Sam duly released his grip on Mello. Apparently turning over a chess table does wonders for a tantrum. I noted to recommend this method to Mello when his next fury arose.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled to Mello, crouching to help pick up the chess pieces he had knocked over. I turned to leave, chancing a glance in Mello's direction, finding him doing the same. He and I locked eyes for a brief moment, before he slyly turned his attention to restarting his game with Matt.

We never talked when incidents like this arose. However, Mello never failed to step in before anyone laid a finger on me. Being as small as I am, I could have been injured countless times, if Mello had not stepped up to the plate when he did.

"But Near," Mello's voice whispers, snapping me out of my memories, "If it so happens I should die…" His voice trails off, hesitating.

'Unlike Mello,' I think to myself. I can tell that he's a nervous wreck. He had the right to be after all. Most notable of the signs is the lack of his chocolate, but also, more subtle is the way he hesitates or fails to finish his thoughts. Looking closely, I notice his hands fiddling with rosary beads, attached to his hip, another nervous habit of his. "If you should die," I repeat, trying to get him to function like Mello again. He is actually starting to creep me out.

He coughs before continuing. "If I should die... promise me you won't do anything stupid." He chances a glance in my direction.

Subconsciously, I tilt my head and entwine my fingers in my hair. Me do something stupid? No, that doesn't really sound like me. Why would he be saying this? Why would he care? Why would he even bother coming here instead of just charging to his untimely death, attempting to kidnap Takada? Aside from that, why did he care, even at Wammy's House, whether or not I was beaten to a bloody pulp? We weren't enemies, we weren't friends. We had no real, tangible relationship holding us together aside from one-sided competition. No, that's not true. He always made it a point to converse with me after class, if only to discuss the topic of the class. He picked my brain every day, probably hoping to discover why he always came second, despite his constant studying and my lack of it.

"You think I'll do something stupid?" I ask, settling on the singular question. The question was more rhetoric. Of course he knew I wouldn't. Of course he knows how I barely do anything without thinking of every possible consequence possible. He said so himself, before leaving Wammy's House.

Mello doesn't respond. I notice an increase of the pressure his hands have on his beads. "No. That sounds more like someone else we both know," obviously referring to him.

He sighs a rather large sigh while sitting back beside me on the couch. He leans back, his head tilted back on the top of the sofa, his hair falling back, allowing me a full view of his face. I nearly shudder at the sight of his scars. Not that they were appalling, but I can well imagine the intense pain he underwent, while receiving those burns.

"Is that why you came here, Mello? To ask me to not do something you know I would not do?" We both know there's more to this visit than this. I can't deduce what he wants, and his hesitation is eating up my valuable sleep time, not that I could get to sleep again anyways. Despite not having much relationship with him, he is still in my thoughts a lot, a figure of concern and care. The thought of his death is troubling, indeed.

Mello smirks. "Near," he drawls, turning his head towards me. I note his distinctly Russian features, rather attractive. "You backed me into a corner with this one," he says, obviously angry with me.

"Yes." I reply, simply. There's no use denying it. His death would, in part, be on my hands, just as the murders of the SPK members had been.

"What should I do with you, then?" Mello inquires, obviously wanting an answer. His eyes portray a rather wrathful soul, sending shivers down my spine. "Because I honestly just want to rip you apart, now. For being on top, for getting the better of me, for being the cause of my death, and for me not hating you for it."

Wait a minute.

That's odd.

No matter how hard I try, I can never understand Mello's gibberish.

"Not hating me for it?" I ask. There has to be an underlying meaning for that.

Unexpectedly, he reaches out an arm, wraps a finger or two around a strand of hair.

That's very odd, indeed.

What happens next, however, I should have expected.

He yanks me towards him, causing a small yelp to exit my lips, and grabs me in a headlock, a gun to my head.

"Why am I going to let you get away with this?" Mello hisses in my ear. "Why, Near, explain it to me. You're good at doing that, _explaining _things to people who are _less _intelligent than you."

I'm at a loss. What does one say to a raging inferno of wildfire? Of course, I try wrangling myself free from his grip on my neck, but that seems to be quite impossible considering, not only that he is two years older but also that I'm quite a weak individual.

And there is a silence. Cold, uncomfortable, but not wholly, and thoughtful. Finally, there are the words.

"... It's not a sense of justice... figuring out difficult cases is my hobby…"

Mello's grip loosens. "If you measure good and evil deeds by current laws…" he continues.

"I would be responsible for many crimes." I complete the thought of our mentor, L. "Mello, I am sorry."

He releases my neck, only to embrace me fully in a bear hug. Maybe it's not surprising. Mello has always been a touchy-feely person. He can communicate things easily through touch, though touch is usually uncomfortable to me.

Not this time, though.

This scene brings to mind any number of sappy chick-flick movies the girls at Wammy's House used to watch. Not that I care. Mello is definitely a warm creature, or monster as the case may be. He always put himself across as a cold-blooded being, but I know him better than that. I can feel him trembling, and can hear his irregular breaths, and can see the tears welling up in his eyes.

Emotional Mello.

When he finally releases me, he stands to his feet and wanders to the door. Before he opens the door, he glances at me with his steely eyes, almost begging me to stop him, it seems. "Near."

"Mello."

He hesitates again, wrapping his hands in his rosary beads. 'Wow, he's really nervous,' I think, wrapping my fingers in my hair. "Which of us will reach Kira first, I wonder…"

I smile slightly. "The race is on."

"We're both headed towards the same destination. I'll be waiting for you." He exits the room, without another word.

"Ah, right."

Slam.

And Mello's gone.

Forever.

I hear about twelve hours later of his death, as well as Matt's.

Which settles the matter.

Kira must be brought down. Because not only has he killed L, but he has also destroyed my other half.

Dear, dear Mello.

**Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think. :)**


	2. The Beginning of Near's Mental Breakdown

**So I decided that I wanted to keep writing this. Thanks to those who reviewed!**

**I know I have a bit more to write of this story at this point; two chapters at least. If you have any ideas or anything you'd wanna see happen, let me know! Also, let me know what you think after each chapter! I really appreciate reviews, as they encourage me to keep writing. I also really appreciate well-thought-out critiques! I often take them into consideration. Flamers are laughed at. :)**

The preparations are nearing completion, just as I planned. No, almost as I planned. Mello's death had indeed completed an integral part of it, despite the grief that came along with it.

In about twelve hours, Kira will be brought to justice, and this is all going to be over. This nightmare will finally be finished and done with.

No, far from it.

Because even if Kira is captured, Mello is gone.

I turn my attention back to Gevani and Rester who are vigorously scribbling names away in the fake notebook. It's scary how fast they're working. I know they're uncomfortable with my watching them, but it's not as if there's anything else for me to do at two in the morning when I can't sleep.

Not can't sleep; won't sleep.

How could I? All that will greet me there is tormenting dreams and little rest. No, better to supervise the creation of the tool of Kira's downfall.

Fingers entwined in my hair, the other hand gripping the knee that's perched on the chair, I know that I look normal; calm, cool, collected Near. That's me. Except for one thing. One, barely noticeable thing.

"Near," Gevani pauses from his work for a brief moment. "Do you need something?"

I realize now that I have been spacing out, staring at Gevani for the last ten minutes. I avert my eyes in response.

Gevani sighs and continues copying pages of the notebook. "Do you want me to get you some food, Near?"

Oh, so he's noticed. Of course he's noticed. Gevani notices the little, unimportant details, which is why I wanted him to follow Teru Mikami.

"No, thank you, Gevani." I drone. "Just keep working on that."

I haven't touched food since I heard of Mello's passing. A small detail that's gone unnoticed by Lidner and Rester, seeing as I barely eat anything anyways. But Gevani was sure to notice that my normally baggy clothes have been starting to fall off my shoulders, due to some weight loss. Not to mention the dark bags under my eyes. No food, no sleep, barely any water, some would say that I was trying to kill myself. Well, there may be some truth to that.

I've never been able to deal with loss very well. Loss and change are two enemies to creatures of habit, in which classification I am often thought to be in. I can't remember when my parents died, for I was only just two at the time, but I imagine I would have felt something like I felt when I heard of L's death. Crushed, defeated, humiliated.

And Mello just HAD to leave at that point in time.

Right when I needed someone, he had left me alone.

"Near." Gevani's voice once again snaps me out of my stupor. I snap my eyes to his face. "Are you _sure_ you don't need anything?"

This is beginning to try my shortened nerves. "What I need," I begin, in a voice icy and frustrated, "Is to catch that bastard, Kira. That's all that matters."

Gevani frowns at the last statement. I can tell he disapproves. Not that I care. I spin my chair around with my free foot, my eye catching a rather large box in the far corner of the room. It's where I keep my toys, cards, dice, and other objects of choice. I ponder for a moment, and decide against it.

And then the door opens.

Halle Lidner walks inside and walks over to me, her eyes steely, cold, dead.

She kneels down to my level and takes my hand with her shaking one.

And then she places a burnt rosary in it, and my hand also begins to shake.

**R&R. **


	3. Kira's Downfall was Mello's too

**Chapter three already? Wow, I'm surprising myself!**

**~ONE THING ABOUT THIS CHAPTER!!~ All of the dialogue has been taken DIRECTLY from the last few chapters of manga. At least make sure you've read or watched the final warehouse face-off! Because if you haven't, then it's not garunteed that you'll be able to understand everything written below. It may even help to have the manga with you to follow along with as you read. :) Of course I've cut out a MASS of dialogue, but this chapter is supposed to give off a blury, not-well-put-together feel.**

**Once again, thanks to all who have reviewed! Please do so at the end of this chapter as well!**

"3… 2… 1…"

"Near, victory is mine."

Oh is it, Kira? I stare at him, mocking Light Yagami, the man L suspected as Kira. The man who killed L. The man who just admitted his guilt.

"40!" Teru Mikami screams, looking up at me, quickly, expecting me to keel over and die, no doubt.

But I stay perched in position. I have to admit, even though I was absolutely sure I would not, it's still good to know that I didn't die. I can't hear anyone behind me breathing, despite my assurances earlier. I look forward at the Japanese Task Force. They all seem to be fine, save for a bit scared. Finally, I glance at Yagami who is shaken, understandably.

"W…We didn't die. One minute passed, and we didn't die." So that must be Matsuda, the youngest on the Task Force, save Light.

"Which is why I said you wouldn't…" I state dryly, pausing for a second and add "Many times over," just to rub it in Kira's face.

"Light Yagami… L… Kira… You lose."

Grabbing the real notebook from inside my clothes, I accidentally brush against something, the burnt rosary, which I decided to wear. "This is the real notebook… because I touched this notebook, ever since you guys came in here, I've been able to see the shinigami. Shinigami-san, nice to meet you."

I keep rubbing it in his face.

"Light Yagami, you are Kira," I say, pointing to him.

I see the wheels turning in his head; I see his eyes turning towards Mikami.

"You're wrong. This was all thanks to Mello. Knowing you, that's all you need to put two and two together."

Mello.

You're the reason I'm still alive.

Rub, rub, rub. It feels so good to finally get Kira and rub his face in his mistakes.

"It was not impossible for us to break into the safety deposit box. It was an old safe in a country bank... "

"Getting into the vault was pretty easy," Gevani adds.

"Within it was the notebook and Takada's name written on it. At this point, even an idiot could figure it out."

Rub, rub, rub.

"Yeah, it's too bad." That's an understatement. "When Mello abducted Takada, Mikami had written on the real notebook as well!"

"You believed that we had tampered with the fake notebook and that the real one would be brought here to kill us. But we had already managed to switch the real notebook with a fake and got Mikami to bring it. Granted, it's a lot harder to figure out it's a fake if you replace the whole book, rather than just pages… Of course the credit goes to Gevani and Rester for creating the copy in only one day. But the biggest help in creating this situation…"

"Was Mello," Lidner finished my thought.

Mello…

Lidner elaborates on Mello's part in the plan. I don't want to hear it. I don't want his name said anymore than need be.

I wanted Kira to be humiliated. I never wanted to drag Mello down with him.

"But…" I shift my weight, and grab the Mello finger puppet gently, toying with it as if it were my own hair. "It's probably true that he believed he would get ahead of me by his actions…" I pause in thoughtful reverence. "But Mello's actions were not just that… Even if Mello couldn't surpass me…"

Mello…

"Couldn't surpass me…" I stammer, trying to keep my cool, obviously letting enough out to cause Rester, Gevani and Lidner to be subtly shocked.

Ah, well. I might as well.

"Mello was always trying to be number one and said that surpassing me means surpassing L. But he knew. I could never surpass L…"

Never.

Not on my own.

"Perhaps, I lacked dynamics…. While Mello lacked composure. In other words, by ourselves we were not even able to surpass our target…"

I pick up my own finger puppet, place it on my middle finger, Mello's on my index, and L's held between my thumb and ring.

Finally, I can crush his face into his own dung.

"Together, we are as able as L… Together, we can surpass L!"

And Kira's eyes widen.

"And now…"

I get to say it.

"The Kira who L was not able to bring up any evidence against, the Kira L lost to, we have **concrete** evidence on!"

I pause and calm myself. Lack of sleep, food, water and comfort is getting to my head. I feel it becoming light, and I feel my sight blurring slightly.

"If you can talk your way out of this, by all means, please do."

Then there is silence.

And then Kira begins to laugh like a maniac.

As expected, he's cracked.

And it all comes out.

"That's right. I am Kira." Light Yagami confesses eerily.

That was relatively easy.

But of course he tries to convince us that he's right.

Damn, what's with criminals and their god-complexes?

"Using this notebook… Could anyone else follow through? Come this far? Achieve this objective?!" Light Yagami, it's too bad you had to be a quack. "Only I can do this… To create a new world, standing at the top, guiding them along the correct path… Only I can do it. Think about it…" He glances at me.

And then starts accusing me of being deranged.

Oh the irony.

Oh, my head.

"What will come from arresting me here? Isn't it serving only to satisfy you? Isn't it for the sake of your own ego? If it's just to avenge L," damn you, Kira, "that itself is the stupidest course of action."

I stare at him with daggers.

"The one in front of your eyes may be Kira, but he's also the God of this new world."

That's it….

I've had enough.

Let's finally say what hasn't been but needs to be said.

"No." I object. "You are… just a murderer. And this notebook is the worst killing device ever in history."

Jab, stab, rub.

"I could understand someone who would kill countless of people for their personal gains. I would even consider them normal. But you lost yourself to the shinigami and to the power of the notebook… Mistakenly thinking you could become God."

I wrap my fingers in my hair and pull. I must stay conscious. I must defeat Kira. "A _crazy _mass murderer. That's all you are. Nothing else."

Oh, poor Kira didn't like that very much.

And then he tries to bluff his way out of the situation. What an idiot. Does he really think I'd feel threatened by a bluff?

"I will confine you, Kira, to a place where you can't be seen, nor heard, by anybody."

"Well, whether the notebook is real or fake, it wouldn't hurt to check the notebook, right?" Light Yagami drawls… what are you up to? His right hand slinks to the watch on his left. "If the notebook is real… or fake."

A small click, and I see a small compartment in his watch slip open, which can only mean… Oh, crap.

"A piece set in the watch!!" Rester cries.

I'm frozen. I can't move. Kira's obviously trying to kill me, and I can't move!

Damn it, Mello! Why aren't you here!?

Bang!

Touta… Matsuda?

Screaming. Back and forth. Kira and Matsuda.

Kira makes another attempt on my life, but Matsuda's quick on the draw. Lucky for me.

Oh, dear, more gun shots.

Mikami's screaming…

Mr. Aizawa's picked up the piece of paper, and I see just how close I was to death. One squiggle for an "r," and I would be dead. "The fact he used a piece in his watch means he doesn't have any more concealed in other places."

The Task Force agrees with me. Of course they do.

And Kira starts screaming for Misa Amane. Then he starts calling out Takada's name.

Rester asks me if it's over. My head, my head. I reply "yes" very simply.

And then the idiot starts asking the shinigami to kill us. That was unexpected. But obviously, the shinigami won't do it. Oh, wait.

"Yeah… I'll write." Ryuk giving into Yagami's request?

The Task Force shoots at Ryuk, trying to prevent its writing their names in his notebook.

Idiots.

That won't work.

And there was no need to worry.

"Nope, Light." Ryuk says, almost creepily. "It's you who is going to die."

There's a struggle as Kira tries to fight for his life. I can only watch as he suddenly collapses to the floor.

And then he dies of a massive heart attack.

It's over.

It's finally over.

Mello, we did it.

I breathe out with a large sigh.

And then I black out; the last thing I hear is Lidner, Gevani and Rester's cries.

**Thanks for reading! Please be sure to review. :)**


	4. My Guardian, Now Mangled

**Hey there - This one took a bit of trying to get out, but it's finally done! I'm quite happy with this one for reasons you'll see. :)**

**Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewing! I appreciate it so so much and it always makes my day a bit brighter to know others like my work. **

**So if you could review for this chapter too, that'd be fantastic. Praise welcomed, critique appreciated, flamers laughed at.**

**----------------------------------- **

Black. Blackness. Oh, wait, there's something there.

Blond? Is it...

And then light.

Light?

White?

A white room.

My head is dizzy, my eyes are fuzzy, but I crack them open anyways.

Ooh, too bright.

And there's hushed tones all around me, and things in me, cold. The voices are familiar.

Finally my eyes start focusing. Well, as much as they could. Hey, my contacts.

Oh shoot.

I look off to the side and make out the rough outlines of Lidner and Gevani. Well, now, that's comforting.

"Near." I hear Gevani's voice, softened, which I'm thankful for. "Good morning. Two days later."

Two days, huh?

I notice the lack of beads around my neck and look to the side table, on my right and see them. I move to grab them and feel the weight of tubes in my arm. IV? I'm remarkably weak, and am having a hard time moving. Commander Rester notices this, and makes me lay back. He hands me the beads.

"Near, if you need something, ask," he says.

I say nothing but slowly fidget with the beads. Finally my brain starts up.

"What's happened to Light Yagami?" I ask to make sure that my memories weren't dreams.

"He was killed by Ryuk." Gevani answers.

"The shinigami? Fine. Where are the notebooks?"

Lidner answers, "in the custody of the Japanese Police."

I sigh in disapproval. "That won't do." I say. "Please call Mr. Aizawa or Mr. Mogi, Rester."

I see a small sigh of relief come from Lidner, and the air clears of some tension as Rester begins making the appropriate phone calls. I attempt to sit up, but find that my head becomes intolerably dizzy. A firm hand is placed on my chest, preventing my sitting up.

"Near, you have to stay laying down." Gevani telling me off? I don't really like this, but I'm not in a position to disagree. He actually pushes me down. Well, Gevani did always like doing things his way.

I fiddle with the beads absentmindedly staring at the needles in my arm.

After a moment, a question, stupid question, comes into my head. "What happened with Mello?"

Lidner and Gevani glanced at each other briefly, obviously unsure as to my meaning.

After a small sigh, I clarify for them. "Has his body been flown back to Russia or England or is it still here?"

Lidner's gaze flies to me, and then to the floor. Something's happened. I stare her down for the information.

Damn it, Rester, why'd you finish your calls now?

"Mogi says he'll be here in ten minutes." Rester reports. "However, apparently Touta Matsuda is here already."

Touta Matsuda?

Oh him.

The other guy that saved my life.

"What is he doing here?"

"I'm not sure, but he apparently is here to see you."

I don't respond. I'm not in the mood to see anyone, but I suppose I owe him a lot more than a visit.

"Should we let him up?" Gevani asks, standing to his feet.

I close my eyes. "Please."

And Gevani leaves the room to retrieve the man I once thought of as a complete idiot. Now he's just a blind fool. Despite that, however, I know I owe him my life, so it's not as if I can get Gevani to kick him out.

A strange sensation whirls around inside me; hunger? Well, I guess that makes sense. And it would indeed be pointless for me to go on torturing my body by denying it food, especially because not eating is, in part, what landed me in the hospital in the first place. "Lidner, would it be possible to get some food up here?" I ask, noticing that my voice is hoarse. "And some water, too."

Is that a smile on her face? Small, but it's still there.

I guess I worried everyone.

Lidner leaves talks to the nurse for me as Gevani comes back to the room with Matsuda-san in tow. He seems quite tired, and I see dark circles under his eyes, which are now fixed on me. He walks to my bedside and sits where Gevani had been sitting.

"Mr. Matsuda, what can I do for you?" I ask, softly, turning my head towards him.

He's staring at the floor, apparently embarrassed to see me in my weakness. To be expected; I suppose I am quite a sight and not quite the image a world-class detective would be expected to portray.

"Near," Matsuda begins, his voice also soft. "How are you feeling?"

Well, that wasn't quite what I expected. Matsuda is quite emotional, that much is clear. I thought he'd come up here to scream and yell why I killed Light Yagami. No matter, this is preferable.

"I feel as one would expect me to, Mr. Matsuda." I reply dryly. "You don't look too well either."

Matsuda shook his head weakly. "No, I haven't slept since the meeting... speaking of which..."

Oh, that's what he's here for.

"What happened, Near? Why did you black out?" He keeps staring at the floor.

"I hadn't eaten nor slept in two days, Mr. Matsuda, and the relief of Kira's death put much stress on my body." I explained. "I was unable to muster strength anymore, so my body gave way."

My guest's eyes flash up and meet mine, obviously surprised. "Why hadn't you eaten or slept?" He asked. Nosy. But I suppose that's predictable.

I close my eyes. I really don't want to talk about this now. I would just as soon forget the entire ordeal. However, my savior's asked me a question, a very fair question, and I should answer him.

"I am human, Mr. Matsuda, and am therefore not immune to the effects of sorrow and grief."

And Matsuda is even more confused. How much do I have to spell it out for this guy?

"Mello." I state simply.

And somehow that surprises Matsuda. I don't see why it should though I know why it shouldn't.

"But, Near," the young policeman objects, "why would his death trouble you to that extent? He was a criminal, responsible for many deaths."

I sigh, glancing at the clock opposite me. 3:12 PM. I look to Gevani pleadingly. I'd rather not pour out my soul to this idiot at this point in time.

Thank God for Gevani.

He takes the hint and explains for me.

"Near and Mello grew up together," Gevani sits next to Matsuda. "Though they were never really close, they were always in each other's thoughts. For Mello, Near was his greatest obstacle. For Near, Mello was-"

"My closest ally." I finish off Gevani's sentence. I know what Gevani was about to say, that he was like my brother. But I'm not about to let Matsuda know that.

"Though," Gevani continues, "I must agree with you, Mr. Matsuda."

I grip the beads in my hands tighter. Maybe this is to be expected of people with a strong sense of justice, but I still think they're ignorant in their piety.

Mello was never like that. Being the catholic he was, he had his ideals, but he was never judgmental. Not that he had license to be. He broke all the rules, some shattered, some just cracked.

"Mr. Matsuda, is there something else I can do for you?" I ask, nonchalantly. Where's that water? Lidner!

Matsuda nods slightly and is silent for a moment. In that moment, Lidner comes back into the room with my much-needed glass of water. Great.

I attempt to sit up, but there's a ferocious pain in my neck. This time Lidner assists me, gently supporting my body. And I notice how much weight I've lost. And I was skinny before. Lidner passes me the glass and I drain it in one go. Passing the glass back to Lidner, I glance back at Matsuda, who is staring into my eyes. Yes, they're red, you idiot. You think I'm this pale because I use some form of skin treatment? Damn albinism.

"Near, I have a question for you." Matsuda utters, his brow furrowed, his features twisted. "H-how long had you known that Light was Kira?"

I lean my head back against the wall, attempting to alleviate some pain. "I had known that L-the-second was Kira ever since the raid on the sPK in New York. However, I only knew that Light Yagami was Kira after my chat with Mr. Aizawa."

"So Aizawa told you that Light was L?" Matsuda asked, obviously still shaken by the whole ordeal.

Poor Matsuda. He was led by the nose from beginning to end. Clueless, blinded by sheer ignorance and misguided feelings. "No," I replied. "Mr. Aizawa still did not trust me completely at that point. He did, however, tell me about Light's confinement and the cheesy stunt L made Soichiro Yagami pull that 'proved' Light's innocence. I inferred from that information that Light Yagami, Soichiro's son, was L."

"How?"

"Mr. Aizawa told me that Soichiro said he'd kill Kira and then himself. Why was it necessary for him to kill himself if Kira was anyone other than a relation of his? Also, I had learned that Light Yagami had become a member of the Japanese police force after graduating from university."

Matsuda falls silent for a moment. Odd for a man who loves to talk. "How did you foresee the meeting turning out, if Light had not been killed by the Shinigami?"

"We would have arrested him and sent him to prison for life. No trial. No publicity. Like I said previously, put him away where he could be heard nor seen by anyone..." I pause for a moment. "But perhaps it's for the best that it turned out this way."

And then he starts spilling everything. Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. He keeps going for about fifteen minutes until Mogi finally arrives.

Please for the love of Mary, take this babbling idiot away.

...

Since when was that phrasing a part of my vocabulary?

Mello used to say it a lot.

The Children at Wammy's House were not what one would call extremely athletic. In fact, there were only a handful of kids that ever volunteered to play sports, be it poorly or well. So the orphanage took to taking its children on nature walks at least once a month in an attempt at having the children get some sunshine, at least. However, on one particularly cold October afternoon, during our monthly outing, it had begun to rain. Very hard and very unexpected. I had fallen behind slightly, and was with Matt at the time that was complaining that the rain would short-circuit his hand-held, though I still can't comprehend why he'd bring them on a nature walk.

The walk was more than halfway through, so it took a fair amount of time to get back to the building, especially considering the rocky, coniferous terrain. Soaked to the bone, both of us were rushed to the nurse's office where the nurse stripped us of our wet garments to the bare minimum and threw us in the room's bed, queen in size.

Slightly awkward being almost completely unclothed in a bed with Matt in similar attire, but not too terribly awkward, I curled into myself as the nurse covered us with multiple blankets. She was obviously more worried about me, as Matt was doing the same thing he always did; didn't he ever get tired of those games? However, I was shivering; we were outside too long, and I was very cold and tense. So the nurse continued to fawn over me.

Until the door opened again, rather violently.

Mello, being dragged by a very tired looking Roger, was soaked to the bone, very dirty, and sneezing occasionally.

The nurse hurried over to the pair and spoke with Roger about the new charge. He had apparently fallen asleep outside and didn't wake up until about five minutes ago when he was soaked through and in danger of becoming sick. The boy was silent, aside from occasional sneezes, and was complying with the nurse silently. However, it was apparent that he hated being in the medical ward.

That's another thing about Mello; he always hated hospitals, clinics, anywhere where it was a person's job to take care of him.

Regardless, he allowed himself to be stripped and dried off by the nurse, and was sent into the sickbed along side Matt and me. Of course, he bounded over me to lie beside Matt (if he was going to be in a bed with me, at least he could be with Matt too), and he plopped himself right in the middle.

The nurse came back to me and took my temperature. I was slightly feverish, but nothing too terrible. She was obviously relieved, for if I had stayed out any longer, my condition would have been much worse. Luckily, Matt had hurried me back in timely fashion.

Now with Mello beside me, I tried to stay out of his way, out of touch, but our close proximity demanded that we touch sometimes. I was surprised; though he was warm, his skin felt cool on mine, a short relief from my slight fever.

People do the strangest things when they're sick.

I remember turning towards Mello, and burying my face in his arm. I remember his arm tensing at the bold contact, but softening when he realized why I had done it. I remember his free hand sliding up to my forehead to feel for a fever and a grunt of affirmation.

After that, I don't remember anything. However, Matt told me that every so often, Mello would stroke my hair or feel my forehead to see if I was improving. Perhaps it was the rare human contact that sped up my recovery, or just that I had fallen asleep so quickly and peacefully, but I had recovered from my fever by the next morning when we were all discharged from the sickroom. Matt had teased me about the ordeal for an excess of two weeks, but I didn't mind. I'd just give a shrug and continue on with whatever I was involved in at the time.

I had intended to forget about the whole ordeal, but Mello had volunteered every outing afterwards to be my walking partner, for which Matt had teased Mello for an extended amount of time. Whenever it had started to rain, he'd make sure to keep me dry and walk me back to the house immediately, even if it was only a light sprinkle.

Mello...

I have Mogi sit next to my bed and I begin to relay instructions for a meeting with the Japanese Police Force. I needed to have those notebooks in my possession as soon as possible. After a few questions on Mogi's part, he leaves, taking Matsuda with him to my great relief, and leaves the rest of the room in silence. In it, my eyes dart back to Lidner who has apparently forgotten my question from twenty minutes ago.

Obviously, I'll have to ask it again.

"Lidner, what happened to Mello?"

She looks to me, slowly. There is pain in her eyes. No, more than pain. It's a mix between pain, anger and frustration. I hate that look, especially on a woman.

"It's still here in Japan," She says slowly. She's choosing over her words very carefully. Evidently, I'm not going to enjoy this news at all. "However, it's almost impossible to make out that it's him."

"That is expected."

"But there's a problem." She's finally getting down to the news. Finally. "We're unable to recover Matt's body. The Police Force shot him multiple times, causing his death, and they have him in autopsy. It will be impossible to retrieve it without questioning."

...

Is that all?

"Well, then I'll just have to answer their questions, won't I?" I drawl.

Three heads snap in my direction.

Rester is obviously the most surprised. "You're actually going to go in person to retrieve Matt?"

I nod. "Of course." Pausing for a moment, she occurs to me. "Rester, please get Roger on the phone for me." He nods and proceeds to do so with surprising speed. He hands me the phone with Roger on the other end. "Hello, Roger."

"Near, my boy, what can I do for you?" It's good to hear the man's voice again, after two years.

"Have you heard anything?" I ask. If he's unsure as to my meaning, then I'll assume he knows nothing.

"Small pieces. Please tell me what's going on."

I relay him the full news of Kira's end, Mello and Matt's death and the issue revolving around Matt's body. After all the information, Roger is silent.

"Mello and Matt?" He asks, understandably shaken.

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Yes."

There's dead air for a moment before he breaks it. "So now what will happen, Near?"

"I must retrieve the body, and I also must get a hold of Deborah."

"Oh, yes, of course. Should I contact her for you?"

I pause for a moment. "I should like to meet with her, face-to-face. If you can set that up for me, Roger, it would be of great assistance."

There was silence on the other end for a moment. "So, I am your Watari, am I correct?"

"Yes. That would be an accurate assessment."

"Very well, L, I shall set that up for you, and will call back once I hear from Deborah."

L? L? L! That's right. I am L, aren't I?

Weird.

"Thank you, Watari."

I disconnect the line and hand the phone back to Rester. Where is that food?

Oh, there it is.

---------------------------------------

**So the guy's a sickly albino, huh? Makes for good fluff, anyway. **

**R&R plzthx. **


	5. Heading Home

**Alright, let's get this outta the way; SPOILER ALERT (although, this whole story's based on like, the last three episodes) – If you haven't read Another Note: The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases and plan to, then be warned, for I used a lot of direct quotes from it in this chapter. From the prologue, sure, but JUST IN CASE. ******

**And with that, this is the longest chapter so far. I hope you enjoy it! I loved writing it!**

034581, third from the left. That's what the paper says.

"Near, we need to hurry up here," Rester says, pressing me to think faster. "We're going to miss the flight."

"Commander Rester," I mumble. "Your incessant reminder of that fact is quite distracting. I am aware of the time. But this is more important."

Our flight to England is schedule for four o clock, and it is currently noon. However, I had insisted we visit Mello's hotel room before we left. I have a hunch that Mello has left something for me here and I want to honor that.

It's been about twenty-four hours since I was discharged from the hospital. During that time, I've been wrapping up details of the Kira case, burning the notebooks, debriefing and swearing the Japanese Task Force to secrecy, and now, finally finding Mello's last piece of work left especially for me to find. Retrieving Matt's body hadn't been too terribly difficult. The police did question me for a short while, but it was obvious to them that I had nothing to do with the Takada kidnapping and that I knew nothing of his real identity, the idiots. After I arranged to have Mail and Mihael's bodies transported back to England, I had planned to come to their hotel room.

Third from the left. Third of what from the left of what? I imagine that the numbers are a code of sorts, probably for a combo lock, but finding it is the problem?

I walk further into the room (I had previously been standing in the doorframe) and look around. There is a mass of wires all over the place, connected to different laptops and TVs. Wires on the couch, wires on the floor, wires on the counters, no wonder Matt was messing with them. Despite his personality, he was a bit of a neat freak.

Next to one of the computers is a hand-held game console, Matt's DS. I pick it up carefully, as if it would shatter on contact. I look at what he had been playing last. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, huh? I smile and put the game console into the bag I carry.

Continuing on, I wander into the bedroom. It's neat for the most part, due to it being unused, from what I can tell. There's a few shirts crumpled on the bed, notably Mello's. He never was a tidy person.

Third from the left... Maybe the closet? I open it up, seeing Matt's shirts all hung up proper. That was like him. I looked at the article third from the left, which was a black sweater with no pockets. I removed it from the closet and look it over. Nothing appears to be written on it or attached to it. Turning it inside out, there isn't anything inside either.

Leaving the sweater on the bed, I look around the room again, deciding there wasn't too much to search here, and I take a swift look under the bed before leaving the room, back to the main room.

I go to the left side of the room, from the door's perspective, and count over three floorboards. I rap on the third to see if it's been hollowed out. It isn't.

Odd.

Third from the left…

Third from the left…

What else, what else?

I look over to the computers again. Third from the left? That would make sense. I go the computer, third from the left, which is turned off. After booting it up, it goes into a "select user" screen. One user is titled "Mello" and under it is my jewel.

"Found it." I say, looking at the second user, entitled, "for Near." Clicking on it, it asks for a password. I type in "034581" and it logs me in.

"Commander Rester?" I call out to the man who had previously stepped into the hallway. He comes in expectantly. "Please pack up everything here. I want it all brought with us to England."

He nods, calls Gevani and Lidner in, and they begin packing everything into large bags. I look back to the computer screen and find a solitary folder entitled, "LABB." Odd. In the folder are two word documents, one entitled "LABB Murder Cases" and the other entitled "for Near." I click that one first…

_To Near:_

_If you're reading this, congratulations you idiot, I'm dead. I'd never let anyone read this otherwise. I'll try not to be too sentimental, 'cuz I know that you're not into that kind of crap anyways._

_Anyway, these are my words of final goodbye and I'm going to boss you around one more time. I want to be buried in England, and I want as many Wammy's kids there as possible. And I want Matt to be cramming chocolate down his throat the entire time. And I want YOU to sit in the front row and do exactly what you do – nothing. Twirl that hair of yours, wear those socks, and just stare as the proceedings are done. _

_Now that that's out of the way, onto my goodbyes... Near, you little pipsqueak, I'm sorry for never getting past my hatred of being second best. We could have been great friends if it wasn't for me. But no, you just had to get on my nerves and I just had to let you get to me. _

_But anyway, thanks for all those years at Wammy's House. You pushed me to be my best. _

_Aside from that, what am I supposed to say to you? What does one say to a figure that's haunted their thoughts for so long? After I write this, I'm going to see you, and then off to get Takada. I suppose I'll explode on you when I see you, and you'll see that I'm nervous. No, not nervous. Scared. Scared shitless, actually, pardon the phrase. You never were one for coarse language, but nothing else seems to properly convey my current feelings._

_Oh, and that reminds me somehow; I'm sorry about the SPK member murders. I never suggested it, but I am responsible. I know you hate gore, and Ratt's killing himself must have been a bloody affair._

_Near... I just can't put words together to say goodbye. Maybe I should cut it here. I keep misspelling words because my hands are trembling so much. _

_By the way, Wammy's house probably still has all of my stuff from way back when. Help yourself to it; there are some really cool toys you might enjoy._

_One more thing: I'm really glad you didn't drown in that pond, all those years ago._

_Sincerely,_

_Mello._

Mello...

Now my hands are trembling, though I reach one to the rosary now around my neck. He wasn't too good with words, but Mello always got his point across. I stare at the screen, my eyes glossed over in shock. I always knew Mello didn't hate me, but Mello apologizing just didn't fit.

Something is running down my cheek. Is it sweat?

I dab it with my free hand.

I'm... crying?

I'm actually crying?

I discreetly wipe my eyes with my sleeve. I don't cry. That's just not me.

I quickly open the next document.

_When Beyond Birthday committed his third murder, he attempted an experiment. Namely, to see if it were possible for a human being to die of internal hemorrhaging without rupturing any organs. Specifically, he drugged his victim so they fell unconscious, tied them up, and proceeded to beat their left arm thoroughly, being careful not to break the skin…_

_It did not particularly matter to him whether it succeeded or not. Beyond Birthday simply shrugged and took out a knife..._

_No, no, no, no, no._

_Not this style, not this narrative voice – I'll never manage to keep up this arch tone all the way through. The harder I try, the more bored I'll get and the lazier the writing will be..._

_To hell with Kira._

_What matters to me is L._

_L._

_The century's greatest detective..._

_So what you're reading now are my notes about L. It's a dying message, not from me, and not directed at the world. The person who will most likely read this first will probably be that big-headed twit Near. But if that's the case, I will not tell him to shred or burn these pages. If it causes him pain to discover that I knew things about L that he did not, then that's fine..._

_I am one of the few people who ever met L as L. When and how I met him... this is the single most valuable memory I have, and I will not write it here, but on that occasion L related to me three stories of his exploits, and the episode involving Beyond Birthday was one of these..._

_Oh, I almost forgot. In the event that anyone besides big-headed Near or the deluded murderer is reading these notes, then I should at least perform the basic courtesy of introducing myself, here at the end of the prologue. I am your narrator, your navigator, your storyteller. For anyone else but these two, my identity may be of no interest, but I am the old world's runner-up, the best dresser that died like a dog, Mihael Keehl. I once called myself Mello and was addressed by that name, but that was a long time ago._

_Good memories and nightmares._

Mello… Met L?

Damn... He met L? **He **met L? He **met **L? He met **L**?

Nope, no matter how I say it, it's still excruciating.

And Mello knew I'd get mad. Oh well, I'll let him win THAT one at least.

I note the length of the document, which is very long indeed, and decide it would be best to read this on the plane back to England. Surely an eleven-hour flight would need some form of diversion.

Seething silently, I disconnect the laptop from various cables and place it in the bag with the game. We finish with the hotel room just in time to speed to the airport and get on the flight with seconds to spare.

I hate flying. But at least we're in business class, right?

Now that it's safe to use electronics, I open up Mello's and continue to read his novel. I never knew he was the writing type. But he was good at it.

The story of Beyond Birthday unfolds before my eyes, and I silently wish Mello had written more. I want to know everything he knew about L. What other stories had L told Mello? What did he say to Mello? Did he meet Mello before or after I arrived at Wammy's? So many questions remain unanswered, and the only one with knowledge of the answers just took it to his grave.

No, there is another.

Roger.

He would know more about this, and I will question him until I know every last detail. I allow a small smile to cross my face, but frown when I notice the lack of plastic in my hands. I look to Rester, who is sitting on the aisle beside me. He looks back at me. "You want something, Near?"

"Yes, please."

He gets up and brings my carry-on bag down for me to choose what I want. Oh, so many options. I grab a small red robot and a larger green one (it lights up) but it only takes a few minutes for my eyes to start drooping. The tale of Beyond Birthday still races in my mind. Had I met him before he ran away? What was he like?

He was obviously very intelligent, save a bit strange. The thought of a full-grown man eating jam out of a jar with his bare hands evokes a bizarre sensation in my stomach. Is it disgust? No, more like pity. What a sad human being he must have been, killing those people just to "defeat" L. Going so far as to attempt suicide? He should have been locked in a mental institution, not a jail.

And then Kira killed him.

How ironic.

But why had Beyond Birthday choose this method of exceeding L? Why the criminal route? Why had he run away from Wammy's house? So many unanswered questions, and no answers to relieve them with.

Not to mention those other stories L told Mello. What else had he told Mello that no one else knows? How had that meeting come about? Why had he met Mello in the first place?

All these questions, and I can't reason a single one of them out. Some genius you are, Near.

Oh dear, I didn't want to fall asleep. But for some reason, the plane's hum and slight rattle is soothing, despite my knowledge that, if we went down, then the likelihood of my death would be great.

Ah, well, even if that was the case, then a nap wouldn't hurt.

I lean my head back and shut my eyes. It has indeed been a long day, and my energy is spent.

"Uh, Near?"

Rester, you have horrible timing.

I crack open my eyes and lean my head in his direction.

"If you're tired, you can lean your chair back and you can have this blanket." He shows me the blanket that was provided by the airline.

I re-close my eyes and lean my head back once again. "Thank you, commander, but I will pass. I only intend to rest for a short while. It has been a long day."

The commander nods. "Would you like me to put anything away?"

"No, thank you."

I guess I'm a tad more tired than I thought. Maybe I should take my contacts out? Roger used to get on my case about them all the time. I can't imagine the vexation that will ensue if he acts as my Watari. He doesn't really like children and, though it's true I'm no longer a child, my childish preferences will grate on his nerves. Not only on his part, but his incessant nit picking about cleaning up will probably end up annoying me as well.

...

Not that it matters. My only concern at the moment is getting back home.

To Wammy's House.

I want to meet the children there. I will not know any of them, and they're all attempting to be their best, to succeed L.

Just as I had.

Except these kids are not aiming for L. They're aiming for Near.

There probably aren't very many children there, at the moment, and there's no way I'll be meeting them as L, which means I'll have to have an alias, as "Near" may or may not have been mentioned in the past.

"Commander, please get Roger on the phone." I ask, my voice betraying my weariness.

It takes a little longer than usual, but Roger was on the line in minutes.

"What can I do for you?" the older gentleman asks, obviously in the middle of doing something.

"Sorry to disturb you, Roger, but I have a few questions. However, please finish whatever it is that you were doing."

"Yes? One moment, I've got two children in the office that I need to speak with. I'll be right with you."

"If it's alright with you, Roger, I'd like to listen in."

"Very well."

He puts the phone down and I can hear the conversation on the other end.

Roger sounds displeased. "Sorry about that. Now, would someone like to explain what happened?"

There is silence, presumably, uncomfortable. Then a small male voice speaks up. "It's not my fault, Roger, I promise. Raine was listening in again, and I had to stop him somehow!"

"Gerry, that's not reason enough to hit your classmate."

A quiet voice, probably Raine's, speaks. "And I don't believe I was listening in on your conversation, Gerry-kun. I happened to be near-by, and in your paranoia, you assumed that I was eavesdropping. However, I have very little interest in your conversations."

Yelling ensues, and I am not quite sure what Gerry is yelling about, but it was obvious he is upset about something else other than the present circumstance. When the yelling dies down, Roger disciplines Gerry by grounding him to his room for a week and dismisses both children. He picks up the phone once again.

"My apologies, Near," he says wearily. "I'm not sure I understand why you wanted to listen to that, but I apologize for the inconvenience."

"On the contrary, Roger, I found it fascinating. Gerry and Raine don't get along well?"

"No, not at all. Gerry is highly suspicious of many children here, and Raine enjoys spying in on conversations, though he denies it fervently. The two combined can be quite a headache. Gerry seems to be Raine's favorite target."

A small smile crosses my face. One is overly-cautious, and the other is a spy? Very interesting, indeed.

"Anyway, Near, you have some questions for me?"

"Yes, the thought occurred to me that it may not be wise to use my usual alias when I come to Wammy's. It's not impossible for the children to find out through it who I am, and I'd like to protect them if possible."

"How would they find out? No child here has any connection to you, and your alias has never been mentioned."

"Various methods. Especially for spies like Raine, it's very easy to find out information. For example, listening in through your door, if you were heard talking to me, or if one of the children hacked into the databases."

"Is it possible for a child to hack into our mainframe?" Roger asks, obviously in disbelief.

I smile to myself again. "Yes, Roger, it is." Oh the memories.

And Roger picks up on my amused tone. "How much do you know, Near?"

"Not enough. Those questions must be asked face-to-face, I'm afraid. However, I would like to be known to the children through a different alias."

"Did you have one in mind?"

"Yes. Matt Keehl."

Somehow, this surprises him. I don't know why it should. Obviously if L took his opponents' names, why shouldn't I?

"V-very well, Near, or should I say, Matt. Is there anything else you would like me to see to?"

"Yes, I want to meet each child at Wammy's. Also, I want less emphasis placed on rank and competition. Those two things combined are major factors in Mello and Matt's deaths, and I want them adjusted."

"You wish to meet the children?"

"Yes, how many are there currently at Wammy's?"

"About twenty."

"Good. I would like to meet them in groups of five, according to rank. However, don't inform them as to why they're grouped the way they are."

"Very well."

"Thank you Roger. That's everything for now."

"Alright, I shall see you soon, Matt."

I hang the phone up and hand it back to Rester. "Commander, I assume you heard that I am, from now until we're safely out of sight of Wammy's, to be called Matt Keehl. Please inform Gevani and Lidner."

And after that, I feel my body lose what little energy it had, and my brain subsequently ceases to think. I shut my eyes and drift off.

Blackness envelops me. But it's not peaceful. This is dripping with horror. The horror of my life.

And then there is a face. It's familiar, but I can't place who it is. She's not beautiful, in fact, quite the opposite.

Oh, that's who it is. And now she's back in my dreams, though I thought she'd fled years ago.

She comes closer, closer. Step, step, step, step. "Near," her voice rings out. "You know you're responsible for their deaths right? You know that right? And now, not only theirs, but your friends' as well!"

This is uncomfortable. She's not wrong. But she doesn't need to SAY it.

"Yeah, I do need to say it, Near!" She says. Damn nightmares, reading my mind. "You know, maybe it would have been better if you'd have let me drown you, all those years ago!"

No. She's wrong. She's wrong. She's wrong!

"You keep saying that to yourself, my dear little brother. You know, it's not true."

"Near?"

Rester? I snap my eyes open and stare into the seat in front of me. I'm tense. Very. Oh, damn, my eyes, how long was I asleep?

I notice the Commander's hand on my shoulder. He had shaken me awake. "What is it?" I ask, my voice uncontrollably shaky.

"We're going to land soon." He states. "And you weren't sleeping well."

I nod. "Is there time for me to use the washroom?" He nods and I stand to my feet. "Commander, could you get my bag please?"

When it's down, I grab my contact case, solution, and glasses from the bag and head towards the washroom. I don't enjoy wearing glasses at all, but they are necessary.

After I take out my contacts, I replace them with my plain, thin-rimmed black glasses and stare at myself in the mirror. White hair, red eyes, rather short and scrawny, that was me, Nate River. The pilot's comes over the PA and announces that everyone is to return to his or her seat, and I comply, taking my seat next to Rester.

Getting through the airport terminals goes rather smoothly, and, as expected, there's a car waiting for me outside. Rester takes care of my luggage and I climb into the car taking the window seat. When Rester gets into the car, and it's assured that Lidner and Gevani are in a separate car, we begin to make the journey to Winchester, which is interesting enough. The sun is still high enough for me to see the countryside as we drive.

Something about England makes me calmer.

Maybe because it's my home?

After about an hour and a half, we arrive. Finally.

Wammy's House comes into view, and at the gate to meet us is Roger, not looking a day older than when I last saw him. When the car is parked, and the door is opened, I step out, and Roger, literally, grabs me and holds me.

"Welcome home, Matt."

Um, this is new.

"Th-thank you, Roger." I stammer.

He lets go of me after a moment and looks on me as if I was a long lost son. He smiles. "You've grown, though not as much as I had thought." He chuckles.

Fine, get that out of the way. I'm short, deal with it.

He leads me inside. "I'm sure you're tired from the journey, so I've arranged that all children stay out of our way for now. I understand that you're still not fond of crowds. I hope this is agreeable to you."

I nod my head. "Yes, thank you."

"There's also dinner if you're hungry."

"Would it be possible to have it brought to my room?"

"Yes, of course."

And it was to my room Roger leads me. My old room. I had hoped for it, but I hadn't thought it would actually be reality. Minus the toys, it looks exactly how it used to.

I step into it gingerly, as if the slightest breath would make this apparition disappear. But it doesn't; it's not a dream that I'm really here. I go over to my bed and sit on it the way I used to, one leg up, one dangling over the side, except now my leg touches the floor, which is really too bad in a sense.

After some food was consumed (though not too much; traveling always makes me lose my appetite), I crawl onto the bed, curled up in a ball. I can still feel the slight impression of the mattress from my younger self, all those years ago.

And after thinking over some possible activities for tomorrow, I shut my exhausted eyes, and let peaceful sleep claim me.

**RITE SO REVIEWS PLZTHX.**

**Love you guys.**


	6. Enter: The Freaks

**Okay, long chapter. *yawns* and it's almost 3AM... I want to keep writing, but my brain just died, so....**

**yeah**

**Thanks to everyone who's keeping up reading this little fic of mine. I hope you continue to enjoy reading it as much as I am writing it. Feedback is really appreciated, compliments are more than welcome, flamers are welcome too, but not taken seriously!**

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I awaken to the sound of screaming children.

I really am back at Wammy's.

I roll over in my bed, open my eyes, and stare at the full bookshelf. How many towers and buildings had they formed? They deserve some long-time-coming attention, but later. For now I have to worm my way down those stairs and eat something. My stomach insists on my eating something as soon as possible.

Hopping out of bed is no easy task for one with tremendous neck pains. Sitting in that plane for almost 11 hours straight had been pure torture, and the stark difference between the hard airplane seat and my wonderfully soft bed is now being felt in the base of my neck.

But out of bed I must go, and decide that changing should be my next priority. I hadn't last night. A shower might also be a valid idea as well, but it can wait until after breakfast. I look around the room to see that Rester has dropped off my luggage at some point last night.

"Convenient," I mumble to myself, hopping off the bed. I walk over to the pile of baggage, stripping off my shirt. Ah, it feels good sometimes to have your skin exposed to air. But only once in a while, and only for a short while. To feel the air and feel the human sensation of tingly-ness is most refreshing.

After I change into a fresh white shirt, another, darker, pair of jeans, and clean socks, I put my glasses on, quickly brush my teeth and leave the room, deciding to deal with the luggage later on in the day. However, on my way out, I see a small boy hiding by my door.

Actually, small is the wrong word.

He's actually a very tall boy for his apparent age, with strangely long limbs. Very skinny, it's as if he'd been stretched out and it's almost as if his clothes have been draped over him by some odd, suspicious character. He has shoulder-length, very blond hair and piercing blue eyes that look as if they were about to pop out of his head.

This was not a particularly good-looking child, to say the least. In fact, he was just a little bit creepy.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he says in a macabre tone. Even his voice is creepy. "I thought that this was the room of my friend."

I say nothing to start. Obviously he was trying to listen in on me. "I'm afraid this isn't," I say coolly. "My apologies, Raine-kun."

And there's a smile that slinks across his face. "Oh, dear, you know me? Well, I suppose that's not surprising. You were the one who listened into Roger's disciplinary session yesterday, right?"

Wow, this kid's on the ball. I allow a small smile to cross my face. "Breakfast should be soon, Raine. Why don't you head down to the mess-hall?"

"Oh, I don't eat that food, Matt-san." And my suspicions were correct; he had been listening in.

"Oh? Well I do, excuse me." I shut the door behind me, watching his eyes as they looked into the room. He's obviously itching to invade my quarters. I may have to ask for a lock to be placed on the door.

I feel eyes on me as I descend the staircase.

I peruse the halls and occasionally see a child doing this or that morning activity. Passing by various activity rooms, mostly barren except for a small child in the computer room. She's small, and her eyes seem to be glued to the screen for some reason. I decide to talk with her later with the rest of the children.

A voice from behind me calls out, and I turn to see Roger. "Matt, can I have a word with you?" He motions for me to come into a nearby room, his office.

Once the door is shut, Roger asks me to sit as he takes his regular seat across from me. How many times have I been in this room before, on Mello's account, no less?

Before Roger can speak, I decide that the issue of Raine must be discussed. "I met him, Roger." His face portrays confusion. "Raine-kun."

He understands and nods. "I see."

"I had been right; he's been listening through your door," I drone, and shoot my eyes up to meet his. "Unless you haven't recently checked for bugs?"

Obviously Roger hasn't, and he obviously thinks that children aren't capable of bugging a room.

Oh how wrong he is.

"Roger, you're still underestimating the Wammy's children." I state. "Because you're obviously _still_ unaware how often Matt, Mello and I breached the system."

Roger stands up in anger. "Breached the system!? How? You were just children!"

"Wammy's children, Roger." I correct him. "We are capable of much, and you're failure to recognize this could have resulted in my ID to be known. In fact," I stand to my feet and walk back to the door, opening it quickly, revealing Raine.

He's quite startled. His eyes even wider in surprise, it was almost gut-wrenching.

"Waiting for your friend again, Raine-kun?" I ask dryly.

"N-no, Matt-san," the boy stammers and pauses, obviously trying to think of an excuse. He comes up with one rather quickly. "I wanted to discuss with Roger the results of the last exam, yes? I did not want to intrude, so I merely listened-"

"To tell if we were finished speaking?" I complete his sentence. The predictable child nods in two distinct motions, as if cracking his neck.

Creepy.

"I'll be here for a while, but I'll come get you when I've finished." Roger calls from behind me.

"N-no, that won't be necessary," the boy replies, and rushes away from the room.

I close the door and return to my seat, a piece of white hair between my thumb and index fingers. "Do you understand now? I actually wouldn't be surprised if that's what that girl was doing in the computer room right now."

"Abigail?" Roger obviously knows the one. He thinks it over. "Yes, she _might _be capable, now that I think about it."

"Exactly. Now that you see my point, please proceed with what you initially wanted to speak to me about."

He nods. "I wanted to ask you about your plans for your stay here at Wammy's. You've come here for a specific reason, I presume?"

I pause, collecting my thoughts. A specific reason? Yes, that is true. Actually, more like a few specific reasons. Three reasons. Everything else was not important and only deserved half of my attention. But how to tell Roger?

"Have you contacted Deborah?" I ask.

"Yes, she works at home, so you'll be able to visit her at any point during the day with as little as half an hour's notice."

"Good. I'd like to see her today after arrangements have been made for Mihael and Mail's funeral as far as location and date go. I'd also like to have all the Wammy's children who knew them contacted, and have as many there as possible."

"You wish for a larger funeral?" Roger asks, his voice concerned. "Is that what they would wish, because neither of them were concerned with nostalgia."

"To the contrary, Roger," I must correct him. Damn, you barely knew Mello, Roger, you idiot. "Mihael was always thinking of the past. And I know that Mail was as well, though we spoke rarely. And besides, Mihael left a small will, unofficial, true, but that was what he asked for, among other things."

"Very well, I will arrange a place and date immediately and have a meeting set up with Deborah later this afternoon at her home."

I nod. Now for the rest. I pull the hair between my fingers tighter so that there is mild discomfort to the scalp. "I would like to arrange a meeting with Jamison."

His eyes widen in surprise and fear. "J-Jamison? Why would you wish to see her, N-Matt?"

He had almost said Near. Though I'm relatively sure that Raine is no longer outside our door, it's not impossible. "Because I must," I reply simply. "She will not harm me, and she should have been released from the institution two months ago."

"But why do you need to see her, Matt? You know that she probably still hates you, and don't forget what she almost-"

"Almost did? How could I forget?"

Roger became silently grave and folded his hands, elbows erect, his head leaning on his hand-platform. "When do you wish to meet her?"

"Before the funeral. Preferably tomorrow."

He sighs, resigned. "Stubborn like L," he mutters. "Very well, Matt. I will arrange the meeting."

"And as far as the meetings go, as I said previously, I would like to meet with the children in groups of 5, according to rank, each group for a period of ten to fifteen minutes. I have questions for them to answer. And I'd like to hold the interviews in the second floor library. Have you told the children of my arrival or a reason why I am here?"

"No, they just know that a stranger is here, but we haven't told them anything other than to keep their distance unless approached."

I nod. "Very good. Tell them I'm a psychologist doing a study. Most of them should believe me except for the top. Especially Gerry."

"What if they ask into the issue further?"

"Continue to repeat the same story, just as you used to. It used to frustrate Mello to no end whenever you'd give us information that was incomplete and refused to change the story. Stick with the story, and nothing will be leaked."

Mello...

Which reminds me of my intended interrogation, probably best left for later. How had he hid that from me, after all of his underestimations? Perhaps the security for the meeting had been left up to L himself, which would explain how it was kept a secret. Yes, that is the only viable explanation.

In which case, I suppose I can't get angry with Roger. If anything, he was probably sworn to follow certain procedures he thought were unnecessary and is probably only realizing now how necessary they were.

"Was there anything else you wish to discuss with me, Roger?"

Yes, it's best to remain silent about this issue, for now.

"No, that's all."

I stand to my feet. "Very well, then. Perhaps we'll start the meetings this morning and finish tomorrow morning?" I walk to the door when Roger's voice calls out from behind.

"It's good to have you back, Matt Keehl."

I pause, a small smile crossing my face. "Thank you, Roger. It's good to be home."

And with that, I exit the room.

The rest of the morning, pre-interviews, goes exactly as I had thought. Breakfast was loud, though I sat at a table with Roger and some other adults instead of the corner I used to haunt, which was now occupied by three small girls whispering about this or that. Looking a few tables over, I see Mello and Matt's previous meal haunt, now used by a few boys, one of which I catch looking over at me numerous times. Normal I suppose, for a curious child. I've been seeing most of the children sneaking peeks at my current location; however, this child was looking over every thirty seconds or so.

Gerry. It must be him.

But I've never cared about attention or lack of it. He's easy to ignore. Instead I content myself to confining myself to my thoughts, zoning out the rest of the world.

The current Wammy's Children are an odd bunch, indeed. Only a few appear to have any ability to cope with the outside the world on their own. Many look as if they are in my position, unable to release their full potential without aid.

Not that that's a bad thing. Relying on others is no more weakness then alienating yourself is strength.

The questions I have for the children are strange one, indeed. Certainly not orthodox, but then again, nothing about this place is traditional, which is probably why I feel so at home here.

Recalling the orphanage I was at before Wammy's has never been an easy task, not just because I was just five when I left, but because of the traumatic event that led to my transfer to my home. The institution was called Blessed Children, and was another one of the many orphanages founded by Quillish Wammy, which is probably one of the only reasons I was discovered in the first place.

Blessed Children is located in the northern area of Canada, a usually cold place, though in the summers it is warm enough. The grounds were large, and there was a duck pond close by with a lot of trees for me to find shelter from the sun.

I was at Blessed Children for about two and a half years, and sometime in that span the teachers had realized that my intelligence was unnatural for a boy my age and had alerted Quillish Wammy who came to visit with me when I was about three months from my fifth birthday. I don't remember the questions he asked me or how long he spoke to me, but it was apparent to him that I had special "gifts" and that I should be taken to a special institution in England Winchester.

My elder sister didn't like that at all.

My sister had always seen that my intelligence surpassed her own, though she was smart enough in the normal sense.

However, she had an inferiority complex to shadow even Mello's, which led to the incident that has caused my body to become excessively weak; she attempted to drown me in that duck pond. My refuge, my place of peace had become a place of nightmares. She almost succeeded too, if she hadn't been so obnoxiously loud with her hateful screaming.

The other children may have heard her or the overseers may have seen her from the windows, however within the first two minutes of her attempt my life, adults came rushing out of the building, ripped me from her grip and saved my life.

I was alive, though traumatized for a lengthy amount of time afterwards, lasting about five years.

I was brought to Wammy's house, and Jamison was sent to a mental institution, never released.

When I first arrived at Wammy's, I was understandably scared, though even at five, I was inept at showing emotions properly and no one could really tell that I was scared.

Although there was this one child, about a year and a half my senior who could tell. He had reddish brown hair and never looked up from his game boy. To this day I'll never understand how Matt read me so well with his nose glued to the screen like it was. But he did, and I'll be grateful to him forever for that first week at Wammy's, at least saying good morning and asking me about how I was adjusting to the orphanage.

When I finally started classes, I was pleased to find them rather more suited for my intelligence levels and not a joke like my previous classes. Pretty soon, I was at the top of the class and had climbed the ranks of Wammy's house to the top three, a three-way tie between myself, Matt and another child by the name of Mello.

I hadn't met him before but I had heard that he wasn't happy about the situation. I assume that the only reason it was a tie was because of the short amount of time I had been at Wammy's and it was only a matter of time until I overtook the both of them, becoming number one at Wammy's. This happened, of course, and I finally got what was coming to me.

Human beings have violent natures, even at young ages. Why do you think they're called the "terrible twos"? No matter your intelligence level, the violent nature is still apparent, even in myself I have seen it. However, to those less in control of themselves, this nature can overtake their logic, forcing them to act on impulse instead of reason.

So when the children of Wammy's heard that the new 5-year-old sickly albino child had already become number one, several were less than amused. A few came to search for me, finding me in the library working on one of the puzzles I had found lying around. The table I sat at was largely unoccupied, and so they decided that they would join me and proceeded to steal pieces until there was none left, and the puzzle was only half-completed.

"Near, you really should have made sure that the puzzle had all the pieces before you started," one jeered.

I knew, even at five, that fools will never listen to a calm word and instead will twist words around; I had had plenty of experience with anger due to Jamison, so I decided to remain silent at that point in time.

I also learned, due to this incident that fools who are expecting a word back are best appeased. They grabbed my sleeve and led me out of the library, dragged me down the hall and out the doors to the grounds.

Keeping in mind that the pond incident had happened not two months previously, I lost all composure and fought as viciously as I could to get free. However, being as small as I was, and still am, I wasn't able to free myself from a small gaggle of jealous children.

What they wanted to do to me, I'll never know, because before they could cause any serious harm, a blond boy came outside and the rest of the kids froze in his presence. His eyes were steely, and fixed in his hand was... a chocolate bar? He wore a black jacket, dark jeans, and no shoes or socks at all. I took the opportunity to crouch down to shield myself from the sun.

"What's going on here?" the boy asked rather icily.

None of the children could answer him, so he shoved some of the kids out of the way to get a look at their terrified victim. "Geez, you guys are a bunch of jerks. Get a hobby." Crack, he bit of a chunk of chocolate before stripping off his jacket and placing it over my shoulders, causing me to look up at him.

The children left, one by one until it was just the blond and I who ripped the coat back off of me. "Geez, you really are a pipsqueak," he commented with a tone of acrimony in his voice. "But I never thought you were the type to panic."

I stood to my feet, my body trembling slightly. "I am currently recovering from an event that took place several weeks ago." I explain, my voice returning to a calm manner. "And I am not accustomed to rough play anyway."

"Hmm." His grunt implied that he didn't care. "Whatever... Oh, I meant to give you something, a welcome present."

Puzzled, I stared at him not sure what to expect. Knowing Mello for as long as I have, I suppose I should have been able to predict his next action. But as this was my first time meeting the boy, I didn't know what to expect.

He shoved me to the ground once again. "That's for knocking me off the top, newbie," he growled and began to stomp inside.

Recovering myself, I allow a question. "Why did you stop the other children just to push me down yourself, Mello?" Obviously if this child had been knocked from the top, then he was Mello, the one who was at the top ever since he had arrived at Wammy's nearly a year and a half ago, or so I'd heard.

He paused thoughtfully. "Why?" He repeated. "Because I'm the only one allowed to do so, since you pushed me down." And with that, he snapped another chunk of chocolate off the bar, and disappeared inside.

And so started our strange relationship. I had no grievance against him, and did not dislike him particularly. Mello had nothing against me, other than being above him in standing, but continued standing up for me against other children, and then meeting me somewhere else only to knock over my towers and stacks of dice. I should have disliked him for it. I should have been bitter against him for it. I should have tried to strike back at him, repay him for all the inconvenience he caused me.

Perhaps I reasoned that my consistent topping him in our studies was payback enough. Perhaps I thought that his consistent struggles to be the best being bested by a boy almost two years his junior that never studied outside of class time was sufficient punishment.

Whatever the reason, I never snapped at Mello. I never became visibly angered. I never reported his shenanigans to the teachers.

I stop zoning out, finding that my eyes are fixed on the stretched out Raine who was sitting at a table in the corner by himself. He seems unaware of my gaze, not that I cared, and was instead fixated with working on some mechanism of his own creation. Looking back to my plate, I see a slightly demolished mass of breakfast and decide that I've eaten enough. I leave the room silently and head towards the second floor library, preparing for the children to arrive.

The least likely set-up to cause discomfort would be a bit less formal, though that's not true for everyone. I suppose that if they're going to be nervous, it doesn't really matter what kind of set-up the room is, so I suppose I'll choose the set-up that I'm most comfortable with, which is... I don't even care.

I push two tables together and place six chairs around the edges. And, that's all the set-up necessary.

I peruse the old shelves, searching the titles. A small smile spreads across my face as I recognize the names of several books that I'd read over the years at Wammy's. Fairy tales, horrors, historical fiction, historical non-fiction, they were all still there. I pluck one off the shelf, "The Oxford Illustrated History of the Crusades." It's rather short as history books go but the large percentage of pictures made for several hours of mental stimulation. Despite my high intelligence, I've never been much of a leisure reader but instead preferred images and videos (or at times two or three at a time).

I replace the book on the shelf in its spot among the others, glancing at the clock on the opposite wall. Roger is probably explaining how the interview process will go with the children, at the moment, and the first batch will come up in five or ten minutes. No matter, I can wait. I pull up my chair to the window and sit in my usual half-croutch, one leg up, the other down, my eyes half closed.

Finally the first group of children arrive, all quite visibly nervous, and all quite... normal. With one hand in my hair, I silently observe them as they file in one by one. One of them ventures to sit down before the other, obviously a leader among the group, though slightly more nervous than the rest I see.

"No need to be nervous," I reassure them. "Anything spoken here will not jeopardize your position here at Wammy's, nor will anything be made public for anyone else's ears. Not even Roger will be told the content of this meeting." This statement seems to lighten the mood of the room, luckily. "I'd like each of you to say your name, your age, your favorite colour, superhero, hobby, and school subject, and one other piece of information about yourself that you think is important."

The five children in front of me stared blankly as if I'd have spoken latin to them. Three boys and two girls, boy girl boy boy girl. Odd. Ususally the girls would have stuck together, but these two seem to want to put as much space between them as possible.

Girl number one on the end pipes up first. "O-okay, I'm July and I'm nine... I like purple because of its complexity, and my favorite superhero is _definitely_ Spidergirl, even though she wasn't around very long. I like to play sports, and my favorite one is rugby. My favorite school subject is science, and one other thing…" She pauses for a minute, deep in thought. This is the only real question with any importance, and that must be felt among the kids. Every other question is just being asked due to my personal curiosity and desire to know these children on a personal level. "I have recently climbed two spots in the rank at Wammy's," she completes her end of the interview with self-promotion, exactly what I thought. She doesn't buy that this will not have any effect on her position at Wammy's, as I told her.

Smart girl, not trusting every person she meets.

I nod, indicating the boy beside her speak next. His was rather predictable; Martin, age 8, loves blue, Cyclops, building Lego sculptures, and cooking. He seems to think his personal achievements in personal hygiene to be important. I wonder where that could stem from.

The next boy, Roy, is similar with his answers; while he and Martin have almost identical responses, Roy pauses for a length of time between each answer. Analytical. He reminds me of Matt in his appearance; ruddy red hair and piercing green eyes, the only thing that doesn't remind me of Matt is his straight, stoic expressions. That reminds me of me.

Finally, the second girl. Rhoda is ten years of age and likes red (for its simplicity), Supergirl (this caused July to look away with apparent agitation), painting and art. Her additional information is as follows: "I've taken a break from excessive studying to concentrate on improving my necessary skills as an artist."

Excuses as her important information? Very odd indeed. Could this stem from self-consciousness, competition, or possibly even a failed tendency towards perfectionism? Obviously July has only climbed **two **places because Rhoda isn't studying as hard. If Rhoda had been keeping up with her studies, then perhaps the first girl would only have climbed one ranking, and, if so, who was the second person she bypassed? I assume this is the bottom five of Wammy's (though still notably brilliant), so the other child she bypassed must be in this group.

The last boy, Miles, seems wholly uninterested in this affair. He gruffly answers each question with some level of attitude. He is eleven years old, doesn't care about colours (apparently, due to his non-coloured wardrobe, black jeans, black t-shirt), likes Wolverine, basketball, and... Math? Interesting child. I like him. His piece of information causes annoyed sighs and rolled eyes among the other children. "I don't care about being the next L."

Attitude. He's purposely giving off an image. There are probably numerous reasons for this that require my getting more involved, which I'm probably not going to do, however I see through his façade rather easily and see a stressed out child.

Poor guy; he tries so hard. He wants it so bad, too.

With the questions over, I suppose I should say something to them.

"Well, that about wraps up my questions." I note the surprised expressions of four out of five; only Miles seems un-scathed. "However, I shall answer the questions for you now. My name is Matt Keehl and I'm eighteen years old. My favorite colour is yellow; my favorite superhero is Optimus Prime; my favorite subject in school was history; and one other thing about myself?" I smile; there's no way they could figure out my identity from this information. "I used to attend Wammy's House, two years ago, so I understand exactly what you're all going through." Looking at their faces, there is a range of surprise, from shocked to amusement, to indifferent. "I want to thank you all for your time. You may leave if you wish it."

One by one, they stand to their feet and leave until only I remain, twirling my hair in silence. So that was the bottom group, huh? Obviously a diverse group, a bit more normal than the hodgepodge of children I was used to at Wammy's.

The next group becomes increasingly weirder. I note that, as the IQ goes up, so does the oddities in any particular child. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder if some of these children aren't half-lunatic but I've often found that it's amazing how much insanity and ingeniousness coincide, or at least that one leads to the other.

They found perfect balance in Mello.

When the interviews for the day have finished, I leave the library and search out Roger who I find in the courtyard. Walking up to him quickly, he notices me and puts a bookmark in the novel he was reading. "Matt, how did the interviews go?"

I shrug. "As expected. Have you arranged a meeting with Deborah today?"

He nods. "Yes, I will have a car waiting for you at 2:30, and you will meet with her at 3:15."

I nod. "Okay, sounds good."

Now to fill up the rest of the day.

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	7. She

**Right, so, I know I just uploaded a chapter yesterday, but my dear friend insisted I work on this next one. :)**

**Thanks for all your support~! Please, if you take the time to read this far, please take the time to drop me a review. **

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Basement suite of a lovely home on South Drive, Littleton, Winchester, England is the quarters of Deborah, or I should say D of Wammy's House.

Deborah Mare and I rarely spoke when we both attended Wammy's. She had arrived about eight months after me and wasn't an extremely popular girl. A bit tall for a girl of 7, skinny as anything I've ever seen, and strange hobbies.

She's the only person I know who can give Matt a run for his money when it comes to a gaming addiction, so naturally they became friends fairly quickly. It was often that they'd play against each other, and they'd play in a small plethora of genres. Shooters, RPGs, racing games, you name it, they'd played it.

However, being around Matt inevitably means being around Mello as well. Deborah and Mello never really got along. Instead, they resolved their differences with sly remarks, pranks, and the odd all-out fight. It's my theory that Matt started smoking because of the stress caused by those two.

But that's beside the point.

It was only about two months before I left Wammy's that I suspected something more than friendship going on between them. However, I wasn't around long enough to see the end result. I suppose it wouldn't be surprising if they ended up in a relationship, being so similar; eventually his laid-back style would calm her from her high-strung nature.

So now that I'm standing outside her door, I find myself thinking about their relationship, huh? I suppose that's only natural. I knock on the door and subsequently hear a crash from inside. Yelling ensues, and I catch a small string of curse words before the door flies open and the vision of Deborah Mare stands before me. She was tall at seven, but now she's average in height, though still as skinny as ever. A popsicle stick protrudes from her mouth, her short brown mussy hair all over the place, and black, knee-high socks paired with an orange and purple dress; the picture of oddity.

"Oh, Near, hi," she mutters. "Right, Roger called and said you'd be here." She chuckles at her own forgetfulness.

"I hope I haven't disturbed you," I politely comment. "You sounded... surprised at my knock."

She smiles. "Oh, you heard that, did you? Sorry about that." She opens the door wider. "Wanna come in?"

I accept the invitation and note the small entranceway's clutter. The suite is filled with boxes. Dozens of boxes. And I note a large amount of plants on any surface space available, each with a little stake and… a name?

She leads me into the living room a few paces from the entrance. "Would you like some tea or hot chocolate? You never were a coffee person, were you?"

"I've gotten used to it." I reply. "But no thank you, Deborah. I'm afraid I'm not in the mood for any."

"Sit down, I'll be right with you." So I sit on one of the two bright red couches in her living room, which has a few other boxes. I note the contents. Video games? I smile to myself, I should have known. But why in so many boxes? There's a small coffee table in front of me with a small box of cookies open on it and the controller for her PS3 on it. The TV screen shows a game on pause. Various posters litter the wall for various anime and games, mostly consisting of Final Fantasy posters.

Deborah returns and sits on the adjacent couch. "To what do I owe this great pleasure, Near?"

Now that I'm here, I don't really want to say it. No, I don't know how. "I'm afraid... I have some news for you."

It's now that I note a ring on her right ring finger. So I was right, huh?

Because Deborah's left handed.

"Oh," she mutters.

"What is it exactly that you do?" I ask, unable to hold in my curiosity any longer.

She grins. "I'm a beta tester for Playstation. I play all the games before they're released. I then write reports and send them into the staff and they send me a massive check and ten copies of the game once it's released.

Of course.

I nod. "Not a bad job. Matt would have loved it."

"Yeah, he always bugs me how I got the job and he didn't. He tried for it as well, but I'm the one who got the job." She laughs.

"So I guess you're wondering why he hasn't called you in a week?"

She stares at me, dumbfounded. "H-how did you know about that?"

I can't sugarcoat this. "There's a very good reason he hasn't contacted you; he's unable to."

Her brow furrows. "What, is he in trouble or something? This is Mello's fault, isn't it?" She becomes impassioned. "Oooh, when I see that jerk face again he's gonna get one in the groin I swear!"

"You won't be able to; Mello is dead." I turn off my emotions. I have to if I'm going to get through this meeting.

A solemn look comes over her features and her grey eyes intensify. "Mello is dead?"

I nod. "But it is his fault that Matt is in the situation he is in."

I really don't want to keep going.

I see the wheels in the girl's head turning.

"Oh, Near, i-is Mail okay?"

I shake my head. "He is also dead." The popsicle stick falls from her lips, her eyes widen and tune out of focus. "I'm sorry."

And silence falls over the room. She stares holes into me, and I stare back. There are no tears in her eyes, but there is also no pigment in her skin; her skin is nearly as pale as mine.

After a few minutes, she finally finds her voice box. "H-how?"

"He died in the line of service against Kira. He is one of the reasons I was able to bring Kira to justice. He was shot by deluded policemen."

Suddenly, her eyes come back into focus, and shoot to meet mine. "Did you make him do what led to his death?"

Shoot, I was hoping that she wouldn't ask me that question, because I'm unsure if I am actually responsible or if it's just my self-guilt telling me I am.

"In part, I suppose I might be responsible. I cornered Mello into doing what he did, and Mello, in turn, roped Mail into helping him."

She now averts her eyes to the floor and I can see the anger building up in her jaw. For all their fighting, Deborah and Mello were very similar in their emotional displays. I pull out a piece of paper from my shirt pocket and place it on the table. "This is the time and location for their funeral; if you'd like to do anything in particular, please call Roger at the number on the back."

She picks up the paper and examines it as if Kira himself wrote it. "Th-thank you. Now, please, get out."

Expected. Why would she want someone responsible for the death of her fiancé in her home? "Of course. Thank you for your time, Deborah." I leave the living room and head towards the door and, while putting on my shoes I hear small gasps from the living room. By the time I leave the small suite, full out sobs of sorrow are heard. After I close the door, screams of agony are clearly audible from the inside.

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	8. Mello's Lair

**It's been a while, huh? I have been writing, but nothing I really care to share at this moment. Haha. But here we are, chapter 8! **

**Now, what do I have to do to get you guys to give me a shout out? Comments are so lovely, and they help me remember why I love writing, drawing, or art of any kind - sharing the product.**

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Four pairs of eyes bore holes into me. So these are the top ... four? No, I asked for groups of five. Someone's missing from this group. Strange.

I have a new list of questions with this group. The previous group was the strangest group of children I've ever seen, which included Raine-kun, a rather brilliant boy with ADD, a girl who spoke in such large sentences that even I had a bit of a time finding out what they were really about, as well as a pair of twins that kept finishing each other's sentences, infuriating the other.

However, this group in front of me is rather normal looking, aside from Abigail's oversized glasses and dark circles under her eyes. Too much computer time, I assume.

"Now, who's missing?" I ask the children.

Gerry, sitting on the opposite end of the table from me pipes up, "Marissa. She's sick. She's always sick, but she's number one."

Marissa, huh? What is it with smart people being susceptible to illness?

"Fine. I'm sure you've heard from the other children the different questions they were asked," I state, watching their reactions carefully which are fairly muted. These kids are more in control of their minds and reactions than the rest of Wammy's house; that is certain. "However, I have different questions for you four." None of them appear surprised. "And so, I shall introduce myself." More uninterested stares, though all paying attention, soaking in the information like sponges. "Matt Keehl, age eighteen, psychologist, working on a study."

A disheveled grunt comes from Gerry's direction. He obviously doesn't buy that. He isn't the only one it seems, judging from the looks I'm getting from the other three. By the looks of it, none of them believe it, but I know that sticking to the story will be the best chance of success in covering up my real occupation. They have no proof to the contrary, and they can't refute my words based on pure suspicion.

"Now, I want each of you to tell me your alias and your answer to one question: why are you here at Wammy's House?"

The four children fall silent as each thought of his answer. Finally, the most eager of the top five speaks up, a very young boy sitting between Gerry and Abigail. "I am Blue, and I am here because I want to become the best detective. No, I am here because I want to surpass the world's greatest detective, L."

Small, dark skinned and dark hair, brown eyes, but the lightest lips I've ever seen on a human, including me. Strange boy, but obviously very passionate and endeavoring. There's something about him that reminds me of Mello.

Abigail speaks up next. She has an alarmingly high-pitched voice. "Abigail. I am here because I fit the prerequisites for arriving here and because Roger discovered me." Factual child, calculating and rather sparse with words, she obviously doesn't have a talent for communication. What was it that Roger originally saw in this girl that made him want to bring her to Wammy's in the first place?

Gerry speaks next. "I'm Gerry, and I'm here to increase the capacity of my mind through any available means. I'm here to be the best." The best? This child is worse than the first. He doesn't remind me of Mello; he is Mello. I can see it in his eyes, that same fire, anxieties and passion of the man I miss.

Wait, what?

I miss him?

Since when was that part of my psyche?

And now his mini-double is sitting in front of me.

Gerry is currently number two at Wammy's House.

The children are waiting for me to motion the last child to speak, but I can't tear my eyes away from this boy. He's actually rather young, but I can tell by that look in his eyes that he's seen much more than his fair share of difficulties.

Just as I had at his age.

The last child begins speaking without my permission. Finally, a child with initiative. "Zero. I'm at Wammy's House because fate brought me here." Fair enough. I think I might agree with that statement, no matter how illogical it sounds.

Zero certainly is a good-looking child, the only in this group. Bright blue eyes, short red spiked hair, obviously he holds his appearance to some form of importance...

In any case, these are the bottom four of the top five of Wammy's House. All unique, all brilliant, all strangely reminiscent of the top five in my day. But then, humans tend to reflect other humans.

"Thank you." I say, beginning this small speech of with silent apprehension. "I'm glad to see that you all have a reason in your mind when you're participating in Wammy's Houses' programs. Each of your answers has granted me the insight I needed."

"Excuse me," Abigail pipes up, her grey eyes staring into mine. "But why are you doing a study on the Wammy's children? Roger goes through great lengths to keep us a secret, so why does he let an outside stranger into the house?"

If I was in the habit of doing so, I would grin right now. This girl can really think. Instead, I entwine my fingers in my hair and pull slightly. What would they believe? It would have to be a half-truth.

"Roger is concerned, due to recent events, that the Wammy's children may be at risk to complications later on in life," I begin explaining. "And so at his and L's request, I have come to assess each child, which is best done in groups."

Three out of four looked satisfied, though only Gerry's grimace deepened. "Obviously," he mumbled. "But if Marissa isn't here, doesn't that mean you won't get an accurate assessment?"

"Yes, quite correct," I reply. "My portrait of her will not be as complete as yours all are, but that cannot be helped."

Gerry grunted, his cheeks turning red as Blue's lips twisted into a grin.

My interview with the bottom four of the top five seemed to draw to a close. "Thank you, everyone, for your time. You are dismissed."

All four of them hesitated, and I could see the gears running in their minds. All of them appeared surprised that the interview was over so quickly, as my interview with the other groups of children had each been about ten minutes in length. They had expected to be held longer, no doubt, but that is not the case.

Because I am a top Wammy's child as well.

I turn my attention to the bookshelves, my eyes looking for one book in particular. Each child then takes the hint and leaves slowly, peering over his or her shoulder as they walked out of the small library. Gerry stops at the door, being the last one to vacate, and voices a concerned question. "Excuse me, but do you know anything other than what you've learned in this room?"

I look back to Gerry's face. Subdued anxiety is apparent in his face, tapered with curiosity. What is this child hiding, I wonder. "No, I haven't accessed the Wammy's database for any information as of yet," I answer blandly.

He pauses for a moment, his eyes still fixated on me. "But you plan to?"

I nod. "I wanted to meet each child before looking at his academic record. It gives greater insight."

His eyes narrow and he bites his lip; his weight shifts and his hands dive into his jean pockets. He is thinking. "I understand," He states shortly before skulking out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

With the children gone, I rise to my feet and search the shelves for that one novel – ah, here it is. It was Mello's favorite: Charlie and the Chocolate factory. Not that Mello read a ton, but I had caught him enjoying this novel in particular several times. It was one of those strange things that you should have expected from Mello, but didn't.

But this wasn't the copy Mello read; this copy was battered and beaten, dull from the fingerprints of the countless children that perused its pages. However, Mello had his own personal copy.

It would have stayed in his room.

Which reminds me.

I shuffle out of the library, not bothering to reset the tables, and down the hall, up a flight of stairs and over to a specific bedroom. I had a hunch that this one hadn't been tampered with, much like mine had been preserved.

I knock quietly, just in case this room had been reused, but hear no reply.

Obviously.

Because its former occupant is dead.

I slide my hand onto the door latch and open the door delicately. And just as I thought, everything was still as it was when Mello had left Wammy's, saving for the fact that it was clean. Every time I'd seen Mello's room, it was a mess, but now it was void of clothes, books, papers and other personal items anywhere other than where they were meant to go.

I lightly step into the room; my hand goes to the doorframe when my body refuses to go any further into the room. I almost expect to see him at his desk, studying as he used to all those years ago. I can finally wander around his room, unafraid of him finding me, and I can barely even get in the door.

How frustrating.

But I have to do this.

"Near."

The voice behind me startles me, though I hardly show it. I know that voice. It's Roger.

I don't turn to look at him. Instead, I stare at the bed where Mello used to sleep. "What?" I ask, my voice crackly.

A hand rests on my shoulder. "What are you doing?"

I don't like this. I don't really want Roger here if I start breaking down. Not that I will. Tired I may be, strained I may be, but not in control of my emotions I will never be. I will be composed. "I am simply revisiting Mello's old room," I state, matter-of-factually. "Would Roger prefer I not?"

"It's not that, Near." He pauses. "Are you sure you don't need to talk with someone about... all that you're going through?"

My hand wanders into my hair as I think. "All I'm going through?" I wonder. "What do you expect that I'm going through, Roger?" I'm amazed at the icy tone of my voice. Obviously it's having the opposite effect than what I was aiming for, but it is making him retreat, if only physically; he has removed his hand.

"I expect that, like any human being, you are in mourning over the loss of two important people in your life. You are acting just as you had when you learned of L's death."

Am I now? That is surely an interesting thought, though a little flawed.

Sure I had mourned L's death, but what I had mourned most at that time was the loss of Mello and Matt's company. I have never met L, but I grew up with Mello and Matt.

Wait, why does this matter?

Yes, I am... troubled, by Matt and Mello's passing, but mourning? I don't think I'd go that far.

"Roger, thank you for your concern," I say, rather quietly. "However, I'm fine. I am... merely taking Mello up on an offer he left me, to go through his possessions."

Yes, Mello had said to look through his things.

Roger sighs. "Near, don't shut yourself up like you did before."

I don't respond, and soon, he leaves. Finally.

I venture further into Mello's room, scanning the surface tops, my eyes resting on the bookshelf. I had always assumed it was full of study materials, but now that I look closer... Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan, Moby Dick, and other fairy tales?

That seems strange on Mello's part.

But there's one missing.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory isn't there. Perhaps he'd taken it with him when he left Wammy's.

Something that should be there but isn't.

That's strangely reminiscent of his notes on the LA Beyond Birthday murders. But I ignore it and instead run a finger over one of the bookshelves. Dusty. This room hasn't been cleaned in a while, but what would be the need? No one occupied it, and I doubt anyone visits it.

There's another thing that isn't here that I knew wouldn't be, though it should be. I can't smell Mello or chocolate at all. All the smells that followed him are not present, which is only logical - he hasn't been here in four years, but it changes the mood of the room. Now it is the room of a former Wammy's House resident, but then it was Mello's lair. Then it was the place he went to for comfort. Then it was the place I was most often struck. Then it was the place that most children avoided in the late night hours. Then it was Mello's room.

I sit on the bed lightly, drawing a leg up to my chest, continually twisting a lock a hair between two fingers. A weight comes over my body, and I lay down on the bed's surface. He slept on his side, from what I could make of the indent in his mattress. The things you learn about a person after they're gone...

Suddenly the back of my throat is scratchy, and I something's gone wrong with my contacts because my eyes are tingly too. Maybe it's the dust?

If that's the case, then I should get out of this room. But for some reason, my body won't get up from this mattress. It's really soft. I like soft. Mello's hair was usually soft, not that I took special notice of it or anything.

Well, I mean, I obviously had, else I couldn't remember it now.

What the hell is wrong with me today?

**There you go! Hope you liked it!**


	9. The last time I saw you

**The word of the day today is: Larynx! haha, sorry guys, I just HAD to say that. **

**Well, here's chapter nine - I'd like to make a shoutout to 0mohni0 my most faithful reviewer. THANKS, I LOVE YOU! I'd send you flowers, but that's creepy.  
And I love all you people reading this too! **

**And I love Near, whose birthday was yesterday! I'm still drawing his tribute which would've been done today, but I went on an adventure and bought too much stuff... And I would do it tomorrow, but I'm going on another adventure... So who knows when it'll get up.**

**On another note: here's your new chapter, in which you get to meet TWO new characters and theres some more Raine-kun action too! I love him. Haha, creeeeper.**

**And, as always PLEASE review once you've read it. I love hearing from you guys, not because of the ego boost or anything (REALLY, nothing to do with it AT ALL), but because I just love you guys. Haha.**

**Without further ado:**

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Roger leads me to a room at the end of the second floor hallway. I am going to meet Marissa, number one at Wammy's house, who apparently has no apparent interest in L or detective work at all.

The teachers tried to prepare me, though they should not have.

One of them, a particularly kind, blond teacher had taken me aside. "Mr. Keehl, I should warn you about Marissa-"

"No, you shouldn't, Ms. Reid."

"But perhaps it would prepa-"

"I am prepared."

The woman had fallen silent after my stern, monotone answer. And half an hour later, Roger had begun to lead me towards the second floor infirmary.

Now that we're at the door, I note that the label on the door has been changed out since my days at Wammy's. Instead of reading "infirmary room 2" it now read "Marissa". There are muffled voices coming from the inside, and when Roger knocks of the door, an older lady opens.

"Ah, Mr. Roger. Just a moment, she's just getting ready." And then she mouths "she's nervous" as if hiding the action from the girl inside. After waiting a moment, a small voice from inside allows us entry and we step inside the room. At first, I notice the utter mess of the place. They say that a person's room reflects his state of mind.

Then I look around, and I see a pre-teen-aged girl sitting at a piano positioned by the open window. She wears very little despite it being February, just shorts and a t-shirt, and I can see her dark skin under it. She looks to be from somewhere in South America by the look of its colour. I notice that, although her skin is dark, there are large white patches of dry and flaking skin all over her body, and her dark hair is thinning, as if it had been falling out, piece by piece, for years.

Music begins to drift towards us from the piano. I had heard that she was a musician and so it's hardly surprising that she wants to play for me on our first meeting. If I was more sentimental, I supposed my breath would have been taken away from Marissa's playing as it was beautifully played with expert fingers. Every stroke of her fingers let out the notes that seem to sing. Louder, softer, attempting to bring me into her soul, but this is me. I don't particularly care about her musical abilities.

What concerns me is the rumor I had heard. This girl has no apparent interest in L. And this isn't like Miles who wanted it and pretended not to.

When she finishes playing she spins around and I can see her face. There are white blotches there too and a peculiar scar running up the right side of her jaw. I suppose she would have been pretty if she hadn't been so ill, but her ailment had caused her face, neck and other areas on her body to be swollen.

She looks me up and down. "You are... Mr. Keehl." She states, not asks.

I nod. "You are Marissa." I answer.

Her eyes flick from me to her bookshelf. "So why are you here?" She asks, as if she already knows. "They fed me some story about a project, but that's most likely a lie."

I don't react. Stick with the story. "I am here to study the intelligent children as a psychiatrist."

She sighs. "I see. You're the first supposed 'psychiatrist' that didn't fess up right away. Most are too impressed to attempt to cover up their surprise." Her tone of voice is deadpan, uninterested, dull. "I suppose they called you in to try and snap me out of my non-interest in L or something like that."

I walk over to her and sit on a chair nearby, bringing up a leg as usual. "I won't attempt to change you," I reply simply, earning a small protest from Roger. I ignore him. "I am here to observe and to learn, not 'fix' any child in particular."

"Observe and learn," she repeats. "What exactly are you trying to learn?"

"Unfortunately, I am unable to share that." I move my gaze from Marissa, who had begun to chew on her fingers, to the window. It is a clouded over day, three days from the funeral. That is not something I am looking forward to, but for now I have to try and stay in the moment or else I won't be able to function properly.

Remember, you're probing Marissa; who is she? What does she really want? Right, it's time I started asking the questions.

"Why are you here at Wammy's House, Marissa?" I ask blandly, turning my eyes back onto the girl's face.

She shows no emotion, no reaction. No wonder the nurse had attempted to let us know what she was feeling. There is no hint of nervousness, curiosity, joy, sorrow, anger or the like. She keeps her face in check, careful not to let people in.

She hasn't had an easy life.

Upon my question, she thinks. "I suppose the correct answer is to become a potential successor for L," she replies, not instilling any form of feeling into the statement.

"No, Marissa," I didn't want the correct answer. I want into her head. "Why are you continuing your existence here at Wammy's? What is your reason for being here?"

Finally, some kind of reaction, if only a small one. Her eyes drift to mine warily. "My reason?" She asks before falling silent again. It's now I notice that there are little scars all over the right side of her face. "I am here because I probably couldn't survive anywhere else, physically, emotionally, or mentally."

There we go. She needs Wammy's because nowhere else can support her. There is no need of L, just of supporting hands and hearts; a place to satisfy her high need of mental stimulation; a place she could be free to be whatever she wants.

Thinking over her statement from before, she was nervous that I'd come and force her to be something that she didn't want to be. It makes sense of course. But I won't try to change her.

"Very well, Marissa." I switch my eyes to Roger. "Roger, I believe we can go." Marissa's eyes travel back to the ivory of the piano, to which one of her hands goes to and her thinning fingers caress the black and white keys. I stand back to my feet. "Thank you for your time, Marissa."

She nods and positions herself back at the piano as Roger and I leave the room and once the door is shut, we can hear a song once again being played.

"Matt," Roger whispers as we walk down the hall. "What are you thinking?"

I am silent. There is much to think over. After meeting all twenty of Wammy's inhabitants, I am unsatisfied. "That girl is not to be forced into successorship," I state blandly. "She obviously has no interest in L."

"How did you come to that conclusion?" Roger asked.

I sigh. "Roger, I wary of explaining myself all the time." He falls silent, but I can practically hear the smile on his face. "I meet with Jamison today, correct?"

"Yes, Matt."

And with that, I say nothing else. Instead, I head back to my own room, mind so full that my lips are sewn shut.

Upon arriving at my room's door, I note that it is slightly open. Someone has been in there recently or is still in there. It turns out to be the latter as, upon stepping inside, I see a lanky pair of legs protruding from under my bed, the other half obviously struggling with something.

I step closer, and the body under the bed freezes. "Oh dear, I'm sorry Matt-san," a voice slinks from a pair of thin lips.

Raine slides out from under the bed, a long piece of thread that was attached somewhere underneath the bed was in his mouth and he was covered in some kind of clear liquid. "I meant to be out of your room before you returned."

I had hoped to get away from people, and now this. Raine has a peculiar habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I have noticed.

I don't reply but instead stare at him, raising a hand into my hair to twirl the locks. Upon my non-reply, I see Raine become slightly sullen. "I apologize, Matt-san. I noted that you haven't been sleeping very well and I have recently created something to help with such problems."

So that's what he was doing. "I suppose, then, I can't be very angry with you, Raine," I state dryly.

Raine snapped his head back to look at the mechanism he was installing. It was entirely under the bed, save for the string that he now held in his hand. "Many human beings find lavender and chamomile to be calming. Matt-san seems to be tired and turns over in his sleep. He is anxious or worried."

Now that's a bit creepy, but expected I suppose. Raine is obviously a curious child, so a new body at Wammy's would be an object of interest to him. I scuffle over and squat next to Raine who now dives back under the bed. "Please sit on top of the mattress, Matt-san," Raine requests, his voice muddled.

I oblige, climbing onto the bed. Everything seems normal until I note a small shift in the mattress. It becomes softer, suddenly, and contours to my position. Strange. I move slightly and there is a sudden subtle explosion of lavender scent that comes from the crevice between the bed and the wall. It is indeed calming.

"I thought," Raine crawls out from under the bed and rested his chin on the top of the mattress, "that Matt-san would appreciate lavender. I noted that, at breakfast, he was not fond of the chamomile tea that Roger-san had brought him."

This child... his blue eyes stare holes into me, thin blond hair the same hue that Mello's had been... he has been watching my movements ever since I stepped through the front door.

I smile softly. "Thank you, Raine. You are very kind."

A grin creeps onto his face, contorting it. He had meant it to be sweet, but it just creeps me out. "Not at all. If Matt-san wishes it, I should like to show him my other inventions."

So he's an inventor. It seems to fit him well, though I thought a mad scientist would become him better. "Yes, that would be agreeable. But for now, Raine, I should like to rest."

Raine nodded in his two distinct motions and walked out of the room, hunched over like Quasimoto, and shut the door behind him. I rub my eyes and look around the room. I unpacked my things last night, and now my room looks just as it had when I was a student, save for quite a few new toys and puzzles.

The hand in my hair falls to the rosary around my neck and begins to stroke them. I hear my voice muttering, "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name…" I pause, wondering how those words came from my mouth. On the odd occasion, I had heard them being muttered under Mello's breath, but aside from that, I had never really heard or participated in any sort of prayers or religious doings. I've never thought of myself as the type to be interested in such things.

But Mello had been.

Why does that matter so much to me?

"Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in Heaven." Heaven? Did such a place exist? Surely, if Shinigamis exist, then Heaven is not completely absurd. But...

"Give us this day our daily bread," better worded as "get me through this day without falling apart."

"and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us," as I had forgiven Mello countless times.

"and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." Yeah, that would be nice. To not have to be justice, but live in a peaceful world where people didn't have to die. This was Kira's vision, though his mania had turned him into a murderer.

I drop the beads from my hands and slide off my bed, shaking my head. I have to snap out of this; I have to be prepared to meet Jamison, after all. That isn't going to be an easy task, but it is necessary for my conscience. And so, I gather up a few items for the long car ride ahead, place them in a backpack, and leave the room. I wanted to lie down and rest for a few moments, but being on my own seems to have proved a bad idea.

The last time I'd seen Jamison was just before they had carted her off to the mental institute. A kindly looking lady had escorted her to the van, and I remember Jamison had been crying so much that her long brown hair had stuck to her face. She truly did look insane from the window where I had watched. I remember that after the pond incident, they had locked her in her room until the day she left, but I don't think she was a threat to me after her first attempt on my life. If anything, she had become a threat to her own life. I vaguely remember the night before she left that she had attempted suicide by slitting her wrists, but she had failed.

The hardest thing about killing a person is actually killing them, especially when you're trying to kill yourself.

I had heard about five years ago now that she had moved to another institution, one that was not so full on. However, I had a hunch that she should have been released at least a year ago but wasn't due to me, her secret younger brother.

So now I feel that I have the responsibility to correct that. Without my pushing, it is possible that the higher ups will never let her out of the institution, though she's completely healthy.

Our car pulls up to the front gate. Commander Rester has decided to join me, despite my request he not. I had much rather he stay on his mini-vacation with Gevani and Lidner, but he wouldn't be swayed.

An older lady greets us at the front door. "Welcome, Mr. River. My name is Ms. Watsons."

It's odd being called my real name, though I know it's safe here. "Thank you."

She leads us into the older building, which is very colourful inside. The walls are painted bright yellow and the furniture I see as we walk through is all different in colour. "Jamison is currently in the hot house," the lady informs us. "She shall be back inside in a moment; would you like to wait for her to?"

"Yes, thank you."

We continue walking down the main hall until we come to a specific door. "This is where your meeting with Jamison will take place," she says as she opens the door revealing a small room with two couches, a fireplace, a small coffee table, and a window wall allowing a view of the grounds.

I enter the room and sit on one of the single plush chairs in the usual way and proceed to wait. I note that Rester has disappeared, more than likely watching over me from the surveillance room. What the conversation will hold, I have no idea. I know that she probably has questions for me, as I have for her, but the main subject that I wish to discuss I know I mustn't. She must never know that I am L's successor. I very much doubt that she even knows about L period, but if she were ever to know who I was, both our lives would be at risk.

After about five minutes the lady returns with a tray of tea, places it down, and rushes back out again. I begin to stack the sugar cubes in a miniature version of a castle I had constructed out of boxes yesterday.

However, before I can even stack ten, the door opens and in walks a relatively tall girl. Long, dark brown hair tied back, rosy cheeks from being in the cold, and rather ridged features. Not to mention eyes that mirror my own, save for the colour. She stalks over to the chair opposite me and collapses into it, her grey eyes staring out the window.

And there is silence. Neither of us knows what to say. Instead, Jamison fixes herself a cup of tea and I sip mine silently.

"I don't actually like tea," she said absently. "They just force tons of the stuff down your throat here. Ms. Watsons believes that it's 'good for the soul.'"

I consider. "I suppose."

She finishes putting in sugar and cream into her tea, takes a sip and sighs. "So, how have you been the last thirteen years, Nate? Nice of you to finally visit."

There was a tinge of regret colouring the statement.

But I say nothing in return. I don't wish to make her feel worse than I suppose she does.

"I know they let you know when I moved to England," she says, her eyes shifting from her cup to the grounds outside. "But I can't say I blame you for not coming to see me."

I nod. "Yes, I am sorry. My own circumstances prevented it."

"Still as quiet as before, I see," she observes. "You never grew out of that?"

"I prefer," I begin, hesitantly, "to keep my observations and comments to myself. I do not feel the need to explain myself to those who do not care."

Was that a wince? Her eyes narrow slightly at my answer, but relax after a moment. "Fair enough," she agrees, rubbing her feet together nervously.

It's now that I notice; she's wearing two different kinds of socks, one striped in rainbow colours, the other covered in skulls and crossbones. However, the mismatched teenaged socks on my twenty-five year old sister are the only things that appear out of place.

"So, Nate," she says with an air of professionalism, "to what do I owe your visit?"

A hand fixes itself in my hair. "I had two problems I must resolve, one as a matter of conscience, the other is a simple question."

A thin eyebrow rises on my sister's forehead. "Oh?" is her response.

I nod. "First the question. How did you sort out your emotions about mother and father's deaths, and what were your emotions at the time?"

Her eyes freeze on me. "Obviously, I didn't deal with it well," is her immediate response. This girl doesn't think before she talks, I see. Well, that's not a surprise; most people don't. But she pauses for a moment, her eyes drifting back to her teacup. "At first, I remember wondering when they'd come home. They had died in a plane wreck so I don't think I quite understand what had happened at first. But once I had realized that they weren't coming home..." she trails off thoughtfully, placing the teacup onto a coaster on the table and begins biting at a nail. "All I could do was cry."

Crying, huh? Sounds like something she would do, as an emotional human being. But for me?

There was that one time, in Mello's apartment. I had cried a little, not that I had meant to. Tears have always been elusive to me. I never cried when I was sad or scared, though I have heard that those are the two most common reasons for the action. However, I am not dead-set against such displays of emotion.

Now that I think about it, I was close to tears when I had explored Mello's room yesterday. So even the infallible Near is susceptible to tears? Infallible, logical Nate River.

"I see," I reply shortly.

"I remember," she continues slowly. "It was really painful, as if my sadness was actually putting my lungs under pressure. I was really scared and I remember wondering who would take care of you." She smiles slightly, her eyes turning to me. "You were smart and all, but you were only two, after all."

I smile back slightly. "And you were nine?"

She nods. "Right, which made things harder. It took a while for us to get into the orphanage, and by that time our foster family had discovered your... special-ness, and began prizing you. I guess I hadn't dealt with my feelings well at that point because all my anger and fear began to get aimed in your direction." She laughed to herself. "Then it went to my head, and, well, the rest is history."

I process the story. She went insane due to unattended sorrow, huh? Human emotion is a powerful thing.

"Does that answer satisfy you, Nate?" Jamison asks listlessly.

"How did you eventually end up sorting through your emotions?" She had forgotten that part of the question.

"Oh yeah," she said, rolling her eyes, assumedly at herself. "Well, that process was started when I went to the institution back in Canada. First they put me through a bunch of tests, and once they were sure I didn't have any real medical problems, they started making me dish everything that I was thinking at any point in time."

I blink. She talked about it. Well, of course that makes sense. But was that all?

She continues. "Eventually, I finally got to talking with a real psychiatrist who began to get to the heart of the issues. He was kinda creepy, though." She laughs at the memory. I say nothing. "But I guess he helped a bit. He helped me find an avenue to express myself in a healthy way."

"Which was?" I ask, curiously.

"Woodworking."

What?

I stare at her incredulously. I did not see that statement coming at all. But I see her hand come down to the table and she strokes it.

"I made this," she says proudly. I note the intricate detailing in the legs and the table edge. She must have spent a lot of time on it.

"It is impressive," I compliment.

Jamison smiles and holds her palms out for me to see; they're very worn and calloused. "Thanks. It's the product of several years of practice."

I nod and turn my gaze out to the view to the grounds. It looks as if it's about to snow. "The second order of business," I begin, "is to make sure you are released from this place."

Jamison tilts her head, brow furrowed. "Really?" she asks, obviously not completely convinced. "You think they'd listen to you?"

"After speaking with you, I'm convinced that you no longer need to be here, though I had expected this to be the case. You should have been released from here three years ago, really."

I see her jaw drop from the corner of her eye. "What?"

"I can't say much about it," I begin, keeping my voice as uninterested as possible. "But I am involved in top-secret government affairs and they feared that, though you have improved, and at this point I'd say recovered, you might betray me to Kira. However, Kira has been brought to justice and there is no need for you to remain here any longer."

She shakes her head and brings a hand up to hold her head. "Okay, what? How do you know this, Nate? And what shit would you be involved with to keep me here for **three years **after I needed to be?"

"Like I said, I can't tell you much, for your safety and for my own."

At this she falls silent, but I can see her overwhelmed eyes blinking and staring.

"I apologize, Jamison, for their mistreatment of you."

I stand to my feet and step towards the door, turning my back to Jamison.

"So you're just going to leave, then?" She blurts out disbelievingly. "Are you just going to disappear for another thirteen years, without so much as a hug?"

I turn around, hand still in my hair pulling at it, head tilted. "I cannot promise that I will see you often." I admit.

She's angry, obviously. I've offended her; I can see it in her grey eyes. But she's also... sad? Hurt? Disappointed? I can't quite tell.

"I shall do my best to keep in contact with you," I drawl. "Though, I can't promise much more."

She sighs, frowning, and sinks into her chair again. "Well, I don't even deserve that much," she mumbles. "I guess, then, this is it for a while then, huh?"

I nod. "Yes, I'm afraid," I mumble, beginning to step towards the door when I hear a scuffle behind me and I'm suddenly being hugged. Tightly. By my sister, the same person who had tried to kill me the last time we had been face-to-face.

"I missed you, Nate," she whispers sadly. "Please, try to call me often, okay?"

Oh dear. How does one handle this situation? I can't hug back – she's got me from behind. I can't say I missed her; that would be a bit of a lie. I can't promise anything that I won't keep.

"I shall try." I reply simply, frozen in my place. She squeezes me tighter, attempting to fuse into me, and a grunt accidentally escapes from my larynx.

"Oh, sorry," she says hurriedly, releasing me. "I keep forgetting that not everyone likes that."

Not knowing what else to do, I nod. "I-It's fine," I stutter before exiting the room, meeting Rester in the hall who promptly escorts me to the car outside. I decide that it would be best to arrange for Jamison's release upon my arrival back at Wammy's House after I've regained the breath that my long-estranged sister hugged out of me.

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**Alrighty, then, please do review! Love you guys!**


	10. the Beginning of the End

**So, I had meant for this chapter to be longer, but it really doesn't need to be. And I finished it faster than I thought I would, so yay me!**

**This story's going to be coming to an end soon, which is good because I have another story idea that's just itching to get out. Haha - hopefully you'll all take a look at it as well? It's going to consist of Beyond Birthday (FTW) and Near, for the most part, but there's going to be some L action too, which delights me to no end!**

**Without further ado, I present to you: the beginning of the end!**

**------**

As the car drives up the Wammy's House driveway, I can catch a glimpse of another car and a small commotion outside. As we pull in closer, I see Roger helping someone out of the small, beat-up looking red vehicle.

It's Deborah.

I frown. I don't know what she's doing here, and I'm pretty sure this is unexpected, expected of her.

Once our vehicle stops, I hop out of it and trudge over to the brunette who is currently lugging a suitcase out of her car. I note the oddity of the outfit: black walking shorts, black knee-high socks with piano keys up the sides, chuck sneakers, and a purple and white striped sweater that looked much too big.

"Hello, Near," she greets with a grunt hauling the black and pink suitcase from the car with a final jerk.

"Deborah," I greet, a bit of my surprise escapes in the simple word. "What a surprise."

"Yeah, well, I decided that I can't take care of myself properly at the moment," she says, lifting a smaller bag out of the car and attaching it to the top of the larger bag. "So I came here for the obvious reason that I have nowhere else to go. That, and I figure I'm going to need some practice."

I lift my hand to my hair, twirling it between my index and thumb. "Practice?"

She nods, nearly shaking off her over-sized white-rimmed sunglasses. "Yeah."

Practice for what? She doesn't seem to understand that I was trying to ask what she meant, or, if she did, she's purposely not telling me. More than likely it's the second stream of thought.

I watch her begin to lug her things up the stairs and cry out in exasperation. "Ah, I forgot how many stairs this place has! What a mess. Eugh!"

I stare after her before remembering that I still had to arrange for Jamison's release. I ask to the driver of my car to help Deborah before scurrying up the stairs myself, intending on making the proper calls.

But a young boy at the door who grabs at my pant legs stops me. It's Blue, obviously, judging by the dark hair and light lips. He stares up at me.

"Hello," he greets simply.

I say nothing in reply.

And with that, the boy yanks my pants in the direction of the hall. "I want to show you something," he states, and begins that way.

At first I hesitate but I end up following him into the nearest playroom when I see a rather large Lego fixture, not as large as mine tend to be, but still quite impressive.

Especially if this six-year-old has constructed it.

"Did you make this?" I ask, causing the little boy to grin.

"I spent all week on it to show our visitor!" he exclaims.

I walk around the structure slowly. It's about my shoulder in height, about two meters in length and width, and consists of several arches, towers, and, when I look into the castle-esque structure, I can see a small town. The more I look, I can see crude attempts at detailing in the main castle structure, though the colours are all mixed around.

Looking into the structure, suddenly Blue appears inside it. "And this is Matt-town!" he proclaims excitedly.

I stare at the boy. He's genuinely excited about naming his little city after me. His eyes are bright and wide, his white lips parted in a playful grin and I can see a tooth missing.

I wonder if he still believes in the tooth fairy?

I get on my knees and crawl into the entrance he had gone through off to the right. I just squeeze in after Blue scoots to the other side of the town. It's actually quite roomy in here. There isn't enough room to sit how I usually do, so I sit on my legs instead as I examine the small town. I see that he's designed every house different (there are about six small buildings), and I can see that each one has a label on it. "Matt's Library," "Gerry and Marissa's home," "Mayor Roger," "Sheriff L," "Hospital," and a little grocery store are all included. I smile at "Sheriff L." It is true; L is justice, after all.

Blue now proceeds to explain all of the architectural attempts he'd made previously in the week, and I must say, for a boy of six, it is quite impressive. However, it isn't much compared to the towers I had been making by that point in my life.

My own towers had been about shoulder height and about three to four meters squared; however, they had one very distinct difference. My towers were made of dominos and playing cards. True, the structures were more impressive when using this medium, but they were also more fragile. Much more. For all the talent I had that he doesn't, I can see in his actions and expressions that he has something that I don't.

I can't quite pinpoint it. The tone of his voice suggests contentment; his bright eyes suggest happiness; the pride in his work suggests confidence; but there's something else. I have been content, happy and confident. No, this child has innocence.

He has been sheltered. He has been unadulterated. His mind is clean, pure, white.

His is white, as mine has not been in many years.

My own innocence was broken the minute Jamison had first held my face under the water. It had been further shattered that day Mello had pushed me to the ground. L had taken the rest, or rather I had surrendered the rest to L, that day he had the conversation with the Wammy's children.

I had given a piece of myself to L that day, though he was not aware of it. I had given him a small piece of me in exchange for a piece of him. I had taken his words, processed them, cherished them, and incorporated them into my own ideology. I had become more like L that day, and less like Near.

Or rather, it would be fairer to say I became more like L and less like Nate River, though I hardly know who that is anymore. He was lost many years ago when I had come to Wammy's, when they had labeled me "Near." I had been near death, and they labeled me so.

Now that Blue has granted me leave, fifteen minutes later, I shuffle down the hall to the staircase and find Deborah there, engrossed in a book. This is odd, considering this is Deborah, she who must have a controller in her hands at all times.

I pause and stare. What book could she possibly be so enthralled by that she hasn't noticed me?

And suddenly her eyes flicker up to mine, and opens her mouth speaking slowly and deliberately, her eyes back on the page: "To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;"

"Hamlet." I say blandly, a hand going to my hair to twist it.

Deborah nods as she purses her lips. "Yeah. I always thought that no sane person could contemplate suicide." Her eyes slowly meet mine once again. "What do you think, **Matt**?"

Roger has briefed her; that, at least gives me some relief. "I think it was a wise decision on your part to come back to Wammy's house."

Deborah chuckled as she snapped her book shut. "Yeah?" she grunts as she stretches her striped arms upwards. "Not to worry, deary, I haven't even considered suicide. That would be selfish of me, killing Matt Jr."

Matt Jr.? I pull at my hair until it pulls at my scalp. "You are..."

"Preggo, man." She finishes my thought. I note her right hand draped across her abdomen. "About two months into it. Soon I'm gonna have to abandon the shorts for bungee pants."

"And that's why you said you needed practice?"

"Yeah, well," she trails off indecisively. "My doctor thinks it would be wise if I didn't coop myself up in my little suite, right, and where else've I got to go?"

I nod. "Of course."

And silence falls between us, though the sounds of children's voices can be heard down every corridor. Deb starts rubbing one socked leg with a foot and sighs heavily. "I don't really care for Shakespeare, though. Never have. But people tend to act out of character when they're depressed."

It's now I notice her eyes; they're red as blood, puffy from crying, bagged from the lack of sleep. Even now, she looks near to tears. Despite that, her voice was calm, low, monotone. "How are you, Matt?"

I look down at the question. That may be the first time anyone has asked that question of me since the Kira case was wrapped up. At least someone still sees me as human.

"I have not been well, I believe," I answer honestly. Though I don't show emotion on my face, I don't wish to hide it fully. "And will not be for a while."

I feel Deborah's eyes on me and I hear her sigh a little. "I understand that. Mello's death must be hard for you."

I look up for a moment and then away again. "Not just that, but yes, though I can hardly understand why."

"Well, you did grow up with him," she answered, trying to think through my issue, figure me out. I wish she'd stop. "And everyone could tell that you were friends, even if Mello denied it."

"Perhaps," I agree slowly. Mello was my friend? Yes, I suppose that is a fair analysis, but I don't know if I would call it friendship; a more accurate word to it would be ally, partner, or second half.

Mello was indeed my second half. He was everything I was not. I was everything he was not. Without him, I shall never, truly be L.

Just now, the twins come barging between Deborah and I and charge up the stairs arguing over some kind of book they are both reading. A smile stretches across Deborah's face. "I hope mine's energetic like that." She says listlessly before standing to her feet in a slightly wobbly manner. "Man, I know I'm having an easy time, but still, going pee every half hour kinda blows."

I can only blink as she stumbles down the hall towards the restrooms. She was never a very coordinated person, but she looks as if she was holding onto the walls for dear life. I have a hard time believing that this is due entirely to the pregnancy.

Now, just to make that phone call and find some form of attire for the funeral tomorrow...

----------

It's raining. Every funeral I've ever been to it was sunny, however today is different. The sky weeps for Mail Jeevas and Mihael Keehl along side Deborah, who won't let go of my arm. She isn't loud, but she continually sobs as we listen to the minister speaking.

As for myself, I don't know how I feel. No, I don't feel. I'm dead inside today. I feel nothing. There had been a small tinge of disgust when I had seen Mello's body in that coffin, but nothing else that I can discern.

There aren't a lot of people here, understandably. However, there are about fifteen, many of which I can recognize from Wammy's House. Linda, Jean, Winston, Geoff, Hailey, just to name a few. They had all worked with Mello or Matt once or twice, but none of them were really close to either. They had come merely to pay their respects. Fitting, seeing as that's all Mello had ever wanted.

There's suddenly the sound of footsteps behind me, and my free hand, not being occupied by a nearly hysteric Deborah, is gripped by a small one. Surprised, I look down to see...

Raine?

I stare. It is hard to see his face under the oversized bright yellow raincoat, but truly it's him. Roger, who stands on Raine's other side, apparently brought him. I had asked that none of the current Wammy's children not be present at this funeral, so why has Roger brought him?

And why is he holding my hand? No, now his grip is getting tighter and I hear small sobs. Why is he crying? Did he know Mello or Matt? He couldn't have; they had both resided at Wammy's since the time this child was one or two years old.

And now he buries his head in my arm. Both Deborah and Raine have found some use in me anyway. But I am not use to such closeness.

Soon enough, I return to my deadness, though still confused as to Raine's presence. Deborah's sobs, Raine's squeaks, the rain's pattering, the minister's speech, feet shuffling in the grass, the arrhythmic cars driving by, the quiet sound of life entering and exiting my lungs, the wind.

So this is how Mello and Matt say goodbye to the world.

**-------**

**Thanks for reading! Please please PLEASE send me a review! :) I like hearing from you all. **


	11. Near Breaks Down

**Well everyone, here we go! Chapter 11~! This is actually quite a lovely chapter - I listened to it on a text-to-voice translator, and I'm quite pleased. I THINK it makes sense... **

**So there's some Beyond Birthday junk, more on Raine, Mello and the answer to a few questions! Good job, Near. Haha.**

**So, yeah, we're almost at the end of this story - I foresee MAYBE 3 chapters left, but I'm going to try and finish it in two, so PLEASE continue reviewing! It's very much appreciated, truely.**

**And with that, Je vous present: Chapter 11 - Near Breaks Down**

Why was he there? Why was he there? Why did Roger bring him to Mello and Matt's funeral?

Why did Mello go and die, thus needing a funeral?

I hear very little in my room. This should be the case, as it's nearly four in the morning and the only person still awake in the whole of Wammy's House is quite possibly myself. I can't sleep, though I have been trying for nearly six hours. My mind just won't stop going over that and other questions.

Now that all is wrapped up, what is my next move? Work as L? Where? How? Can I stay here and do that or should I go back to the SPK headquarters in New York?

Why was Raine at the funeral? Why had Roger brought him there? Why had Raine been so emotional over someone he'd never met? Or perhaps he had met Mello? But that's impossible, right?

Come to think of it, wasn't Deborah just about ready to kill me, due to my indirect involvement in Mail Jeevas' death? Why was it she had not left my side yesterday? Should not my indirect responsibility make her want to push me away instead of coming closer? Or perhaps it is my payment for my sins in her eyes?

Had I ever met Beyond Birthday? What kind of person was he? Had he truly been insane, or was he just like Mello, only more masochistic? How close had Beyond Birthday been to surpassing L, and was it truly that L was saved by Naomi Misora or had he known all along what Beyond Birthday's plan was?

When had Mello met L? Why? Why had he met L and I hadn't? Was I not the most likely successor to L, or was it just that L was more interested in Mello? Perhaps Mello and my competition was a closer race than I had previously thought?

Why can't I sleep?

Why did this have to all end like this?

Why couldn't I save either of them?

Why, why, why?

This has to stop. I tear off my covers, abandoning all hope of sleep, pull on socks, and leave my warm room to haunt the halls of Wammy's house. I don't care if he's sleeping, Roger has some questions to answer, so it's to Roger's room I head to.

But as I walk up to the door, I can see that his office light is on. His office is immediately adjacent to his sleeping quarters so he can have as little time around children as possible, and it's also quite convenient for anyone trying to find him.

I knock on the office door quietly and hear Roger's voice from inside invite me in. Upon opening the door, I see not only Roger, who is sitting in his usual place behind his desk, but Deborah also, who sits in one of the two chairs across from him.

"Near," Roger invites me to sit in the chair next to the girl. "We've been expecting you."

Have you now? Not that I care, but it is nice that they think so highly of my ability to cope with change. I shuffle over to the chair, but hesitate instead of sitting down. I merely stare at it, fiddling with the beads that I now permanently keep at my waist.

"Near?" I hear Deborah's concerned voice behind me, and then I feel her hand touch my sleeve, which I jerk away. Perhaps a combination of my restless mind and my restless body is making me a bit less in control of my reactions, but I am still surprised at the suddenness of my response. "What's wrong, Near?"

Do they have to ask? Or is she just trying to get me to say it out loud? "Roger, I have many questions to ask you," I say, my voice sounding as dead as Mello was, though my hand that's gripping the beads shakes. My eyes remain directed at the empty chair and I brave the first of my questions: "When had L met Mello?"

I hear a resigned sigh and a small gasp of surprise. Of course Deborah hadn't known, and I guess that Roger has supposed that I'd have come by the information sooner or later. "About a week before the conversation between L and the Wammy's House children. He only had time to talk with one of you before he had to leave for Japan."

"Why Mello?" I shoot quickly, a tinge of hurt escaping with the question. "Was I not the most likely candidate to succeed L at that time?"

"Yes, Near, you were, but you were terribly ill at the time and was in the hospital ward."

Ah, so L was here at the time of the great flu that had spread through Wammy's house like wildfire. Being L, he couldn't afford to become ill, and only having enough time to talk to one of us, he had chosen to speak with Mello. Logical.

"But he had planned to come back and speak with you, Near," Roger adds. "After he had finished with the Kira case. He hadn't chosen between the two of you due to the fact that he had not spoken with you face-to-face."

So that's why. Of course, this doesn't mean all is forgotten. "Fine. Who was Beyond Birthday?"

Roger's eyes stare at me in disbelief, I'll assume. "H-how did you find out about him?" he stammers.

"Mello left me a word document with his notes on the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases," I reply blandly. "Did I ever know him?"

Hesitantly, Roger nods. "Yes, Near, between L, Watari and myself, we referred to him as "Backup," but to the rest of the children, he was known as Braeden."

Braeden? That kid? He was about four years older than myself and was a quieter individual. I remember him slightly before he'd suddenly disappeared eight years ago. And then he'd gone and murdered three innocent people and had attempted suicide. I had never thought of him as the type who'd be able to do something like that; he wasn't insane, was kind to those weaker than himself, and was truly eager to learn and experiment.

That first paragraph of Mello's notes echo in my ears:

_When Beyond Birthday committed his third murder, he attempted an experiment. Namely, to see if it were possible for a human being to die of internal hemorrhaging without rupturing any organs. Specifically, he drugged his victim so they fell unconscious, tied them up, and proceeded to beat their left arm thoroughly, being careful not to break the skin…_

_It did not particularly matter to him whether it succeeded or not. Beyond Birthday simply shrugged and took out a knife..._

Yes, that does sound like Braeden, B, Backup, Beyond Birthday.

"Then, he truly wasn't insane?" I ask, though this isn't a question. Beyond Birthday was not a crazy individual as Jamison had been previously. He had merely been obsessed with L and had taken that obsession to inappropriate levels.

"No, he wasn't," Roger replied. "Near, are you sure you're okay?"

I barely hear his concerned question, for my final one circles around in my own head. Why had he been there? Why was Raine at that funeral? Why?

"Roger," I finally force my mouth to speak. I can hear the weakness I feel escaping, but I hardly care. "Why was Raine at the funeral? I had asked that none of the current Wammy's House Children be in attendance. However, you took the trouble to escort him yourself to the burial." I shift my eyes' gaze to the aging man sitting behind the desk whose eyes meet mine. I hear Deborah breathing beside me, her breaths labored and heavy. This must be a touchy subject for her, understandably.

Roger is silent for a moment, obviously choosing his words very carefully. "I supposed that he had the right to attend the funeral of the only family he had left."

I narrow my eyes. "Family?" I ask gradually. "He and Mello were related?"

Roger nods slowly. "Mello came from a family of ten children and was in the middle of the pack. However, at the time when Mello was out of the home in a boarding school, the family home had been set on fire by a serial arsonist, and everyone inside died. It was assumed that Mihael was the sole survivor of the Keehl family. However, about a year ago I discovered a small child in a special medical institute with the last name Keehl and discovered Rodya Keehl at a small hospital in an obscure French town; I have questioned him as to how he ended up there, but he still won't give me a straight answer. However, I was able to determine that he is the same Rodya Keehl that was the youngest sibling of the ten."

"In other words," Deborah whispered in awe, "he's Mello's youngest brother?"

They have some discussion, but I can't hear them for the ringing in my ears. Rodya, Raine is Mello's brother? Of course, this would account for a great many things such as his intelligence, those blue eyes that mirror Mello's, and that strangely reminiscent self-motivation all have made me think of Mello at some point or another. I never concluded that he was related.

Rodya Keehl, very Russian indeed. Not that I had known his real name before this. If I had just swallowed my pride and looked at the children's profiles, many questions would be answered.

A small knock is heard at the door. I freeze, my hands drop the beads. Who would be up at this hour besides him? I raise my eyes back to Roger, who has already given permission for the child to enter the room. The soft padding of walking feet approaches me from behind, and before long, I can feel the child's body heat behind me.

"Matt-san, are you okay?" I hear his high-pitched voice inquire, halting my ever-thinking mind. Mello's brother is standing right behind me, asking after my wellness as Mello had. I feel a small hand grab at my sleeve, which was previously hanging loosely at my side, but now I can't help but tense. "Matt-san, you're very tense? Are you scared?"

I feel those eyes on me. Those eyes, those eyes, those same eyes that Mello had. They bore holes into me and I can't take it. It's like he's back here again.

But Mello's dead, and he's never coming back.

Roger is trying to explain something to me, but I can't hear him. What is this feeling? I feel as if I will explode. I need to let something out, or else something horrible will happen by my own hand. Rage, animosity, sorrow, all felt on levels I haven't yet felt. Vengeance I have felt, anger I have felt, sadness I have felt, but never have I felt this… this need to lash out.

I **will **be in control. I will not lose control of myself over this. Raine's hand finds mine and small fingers entwine with mine. "Matt-san? Why are you ignoring me?"

Ignoring? The brat. That bony hand holding mine is nothing like Mello's had been. Mello had been filled out, and this kid is nothing but bones and hair. This kid is nothing like him. He could never be like Mello! He will never be like Mello.

Mello, damn it, why aren't you here instead of him!

Suddenly there's a crash and a small gasp. I glance and realize that I've just pushed Raine to the floor. I may have yelled something, my voice box feels like I've just yelled, but I can't remember.

Raine's eyes are widened in confusion and I realize that Roger and Deborah's eyes now glare at me as if I had turned into a demon.

Perhaps there is some truth to that.

Deborah quickly scrambles over to Raine, making sure he's okay. I see that he's confused and a bit scared, but not surprised. Deborah gives him a small hug and I observe her get to her feet and come back over to me.

She's very angry and the hair that is falling over her eyes make the anger seem darker. Not that I've ever been intimidated by anyone, really, but this grieving female seems all the more present with the hot rage radiating from her face.

She raises a hand. "Near, you NEVER push or yell at a child!" She growls at me before releasing the hold on her hand and a flash of pain surges across my face.

I hold the offended side of my face in my hand and the final strands of control I have over myself snap. Hot tears rush down my face against my will and the side of my face becomes very warm. I hide the tears as best I can until arms wrap around me and I note that the same girl who had hurt me now held me very tightly.

"Come on, Near," she whispers. "Let's get some ice for that."

With that, she leads me out of the office, not before I mumble my apologies to Raine and Roger.

**Thanks for reading - please review. :)**


	12. The Worm

**Hey guys - So here we are, second to last chapter of this fic! Everything's coming to a head, and I have to thank you all for sticking with me for so long! It really means a lot. **

**If y'all could help me out, because I suck at making sure all loose ends are tied, if there's something you notice I mentioned previously that seems unfinished, let me know, okay? I'll be doing a read through, but readers generally remember the story better than the authors, I have found. Haha.**

**I want to thank you guys who have been reviewing. It's really helped my enthusiasm for writing this story. I have another idea for my next fic that I hope you all will read as well - it's a Beyond Birthday and Near fic, but it will also feature a LOT of Mello and L, which I'm really excited about! :)**

**Without further ado: Je te presente: the Worm.**

Out of all the frozen items in that freezer, and she had to pick my least favorite food in the world: peas. She had forced me to sit down while she scouted out some form of frozen item to press to my now red left cheek to keep it from swelling. Now she presses the frozen bag of green pellets known as peas to my face, despite my obvious displeasure.

"Oh grow up, Near," she had scolded when I tried to push her hand away. Instead, she takes my hand with her free one and keeps holding it. "I'm sorry," she mumbles.

"No, you were right," I confess. "And you were justified in hitting me. In all honesty, your hitting me has helped me more than it hurt."

She smiles and laughs softly. "Is that so? Well, maybe I should hit you more often, then."

"No, once was enough," I reply shortly.

"You must really miss him to act that way, Near." I move my eyes to look at the girl nursing me. "You wanna talk about it?"

I exhale rather loudly. "I do miss Mello, though I hardly understand why. Growing up with him doesn't explain everything." I pause. I was going to ask Jamison, but I suppose Deborah would be a better person to ask; she definitely has an answer to the question, after all. "What does love feel like, Deborah?"

Her eyes dart from my reddened cheek to my eyes, then back to my cheek again, her expression showing mild surprise by the question. She is silent for a moment, obviously thinking it over. "Love is more than a feeling, really. It makes you care more for another person than for yourself. You'd die for the other person, if it came to it. It's also rather uncomfortable and makes you want to both go closer to the other, but also run away as fast as you can. It makes you want that person and also makes you want to push that person away."

I nod very slightly. "Then that's not what I feel," I state, matter of factly with a tinge of relief.

Deborah laughs at my statement. "I could have told you that, silly!" The smile on her face widens. "Though I can't say that you having fallen in love with Mello wouldn't have been amusing."

"It makes this situation harder, however," I interject. "I still can't define this mass of stress."

"You're trying to put it in a box?" she asks me, an eyebrow perked. "Near, sometimes you just can't do that. People aren't neat and tidy like that." She pauses, her eyes thoughtful. "Try sounding it out for me, Near."

"Sounding it out?"

"When you think of Mello and his death, what comes to your mind?"

I lift my hand to my hair and twirl it. "Mello... did not hate me. I didn't hate Mello. But I should have attempted to stop him from doing what led to his and Mail's deaths. Even if I had, he would have done it anyway. But now that he's gone," I pause, a thought striking me, "I can't succeed L."

Deborah takes the peas off my face and places it on a table nearby. "Why do you say that?" she asks quietly.

"I don't have the motivation L did. Mello had it. Mello didn't have the self-control L did. I have it. Without Mello, I can't be like L. Without me, Mello couldn't be like L. We completed each other, and now I'm missing that vital second half. Without him..." I trail off. It's not just about L; there is more to this than that. "Without Mello, can I really be a whole person?"

"So you feel like you need Mello?" Deborah asks simply. Obviously that's what she's heard and wants to clarify.

"Something to that extent, I suppose. My other half is dead, and now I'm a mere shadow of what I could have been."

Silence falls again as Deborah climbs onto the bed beside me sitting cross-legged. "Then, Near," she begins lightly, "I guess you're just going to have to grow a bit. You know how, when a worm is cut in half it just keeps living? I'm sure it really hurts, but eventually, it grows and becomes even bigger than before it got cut."

"You want me... to act like a worm?" I ask, my eyes slightly widened in surprise.

She laughs loudly. "Well, I don't want you to just be cut and die on the side of the road, ready to be eaten by crows. How would _that _feel, being digested by a crow?"

I stare at her, unsure as to what response she wants me to give, or even if her statement even requires a response. "I suppose that makes sense." I settle on a non-descript answer.

To which she makes some form of squealing noise and incarcerates me in a rather tight hug.

"Deborah, why do you insist on trying to murder me by suffocation?" I just manage to squeeze out, finally drawing her attention to the fact that I am rather uncomfortable with the close proximity.

"Oh, sorry Near." She mumbles letting me go and taking a last look at my face. "I think you should be fine, now. The redness has gone away for the most part."

I smile slightly, but grimace when a thought comes to me. "Why are you helping me when I was involved in Matt's death?"

Her smile fades and she meets my questioning gaze. "It's like you said, Near; even if you had attempted to stop Mello, it's not like he would have listened to you. I don't blame you in the slightest for what happened."

I look away. "I understand." I acknowledge curtly.

Deborah gets to her feet. "Well, I suppose that's that, then. I'm going to get some tea seeing as I won't be able to sleep at all. You wanna come?"

I shake my head slightly. "I will be staying here, for now."

She shrugs and walks out of the ward and I remain on the bed, twirling my hair. Coffee is unnecessary due to my busy mind, which insists to continue thinking over the last several months.

It started with that meeting with the American President and my presentation with the evidence about the second L and the Death Note. I had procured the meeting through Wammy's contacts with the FBI and it had only been a matter of time before the meeting with the President took place.

Convincing him of the Death Note's existence hadn't been too much trouble, which had taken me by surprise slightly but as it only accelerated my progress, the change to my mental timeline wasn't unwelcome.

And then Mello kidnapped the Director of the NPA and I had the opportunity to speak with the second L, an opportunity I could not pass up. I wanted to see what kind of incompetent fool had taken L. Lawliet's place. I soon found out that it wasn't a fool, but Kira himself, which explained the lack of progress in the NPA's investigation.

Eventually I finally got my chance to set my own plan in motion after that conversation with Mello after his own plan had literally blown up in his face. Those scars on his face had nearly sent shivers down my spine when I had seen his reflection in the monitors. I suppose it was about this time that Mello had gotten Matt involved in the Kira case.

Mello had led Mr. Mogi to the SPK base and, after we had been chased out by the Kira mob, Mr. Aizawa came and unloaded all he knew about the Kira case, including vital facts that led to my conclusions about Light Yagami, the second L, being Kira.

Then I'd moved the investigation to Japan and before long, the meeting with the Kira task force took place, but not before Mello had kidnapped Kira's link to the public, Kiyomi Takada who murdered Mello. Kira, in turn murdered her, though if he hadn't done it, x-Kira, Teru Mikami would have.

And then Kira was killed at the Shinigami Ryuk's hand by the Death Note. The story is fairly straightforward, a bit more detailed, but in its entirety, it isn't terribly complicated.

Or rather, it isn't until you start adding relationships into the mix. Human relationships are a complicated business; you can't put them into boxes, nor can you define them by a few straight categories. This is the conclusion I've come to after all this.

Yes, I care for Mello. I miss Mello, now more than ever. I wish with all my being that he were still alive. But he isn't, and he will never breathe again.

With this in mind, I stare at the computer, which sits on the desk across from me. It was the one Mello, Matt and I often used to hack into the Wammy's house mainframe. It was an obscure machine, supposedly only used by the nurse, and the security was a lot looser on it.

I scuffle over to it and boot it up, eventually getting into the system. Roger has upgraded the security, but it's still a joke and I get past it easily. I begin to go through all the Wammy House Children's profiles to while away the remaining hours of the night in wait for breakfast.

The children begin to come to life as I pull up each profile. Only a few really pique my interest: Miles, AKA Martin Jeunesse, was originally found in the northern area of Spain when he'd run away from his boarding school in the south of France. One of Roger's contacts had found him and had notified him about Miles as soon as his identity was confirmed.

Gerry, Gad Gavish, found in a gutter somewhere in Italy by Quillish Wammy several years ago, and was placed in an orphanage related to Wammy's. He was transferred here as soon as Wammy's re-opened.

Blue, Bailey Coniferous, originally from the southern United States, had nearly drowned when the cruise ship had sunk, killing both of his parents. A contact of Roger's had found him and brought him over to England as soon as was possible.

Abigail, Anise Andolina, was the daughter of a higher-up in the Italian Government Intelligence that was assassinated five years ago. Apparently, her father had gotten wind of the plot and had alerted Roger himself of his daughter and the possibility of his death. Her mother had died three years previously from disease.

On and on the list went. I read each profile, exhausting all links posted on their profiles of related information until I had a complete picture of each child's history. Each had their own tragic story of how they came to be completely alone in this world, and each had their own story of redemption and rescue, being just barely saved from poverty or the system.

It makes me wonder if there will be a redemption story in my own life, or if I'll remain here, as I am, until I die. That depends on me, I guess.

I glance at the clock that announces proudly that it is now 6:30 in the morning and I rise from my place in front of the computer careful to log off and shut the computer off properly. Leaving the ward, I trudge down the hall, now aware of the rising orphans who are readying for the new day. Each face now boasted its own personality, its own story. I can see that, despite the stories, many of these children are genuinely happy, content to love the other children and to be loved by the other children, striving to become the best all the while.

I finally arrive at the mess hall where very few children are having a very early breakfast, or rather, in the case of the twins, are having a very early food fight. Sakura and Suzume, very strange names for two male twins that weren't Japanese, or from any Asian country as far as the Wammy's House intelligence had found out. They'd been found in Jamaica, though they weren't Jamaican.

I decide to take a seat at a table far away from the twins; I have no desire to be covered with syrup at present, and so I acquire the needed breakfast items (very dark coffee, a bagel and jam, and a peach, though I know I probably won't eat it). I take a seat at an abandoned table when I realize that it's the same table I used to sit at all those years ago and a smile creeps on my face as I take the first sip of the coffee. Ah, that's a good caffeine burn.

-------------------------

Over the course of the next several weeks, I began to start a new building project and work together with many of the children on their own undertakings. I never could quite figure out my feelings to the degree that I had originally hoped, but I was able to gain back my peace of mind as well as a new perspective on the recent events. Despite my having pushed and yelled at him, Raine had taken the first opportunity to show me his inventions and had taken an entire afternoon up displaying to me an endless array of inventions, completed or in-progress.

Eventually, each child had had at least an hour with me and, for some reason that I'm still unable to decipher, had taken a liking to me. Deborah also became quite a popular figure around the house and had taken up a motherly station. Some of the children had even taken to calling her "Nana Deb." However, I often thought as I saw her interacting with the kids that she herself looked like a child, rolling around on the floor, tickling the smaller ones and beating on the older ones whenever she beat them at a game. Being around the children was helping to improve her mental stability, and, by the time I left six weeks later, she almost seemed happy again.

When I left, I had made arrangements to operate as L from New York. I did not want to leave England, but for the safety of the children and for the security and secrecy of Wammy's House, it must be that L is far away from his children.

Thinking over the last six weeks, I can now understand what Deborah had said about the worm. Yes, it hurts when you're cut off from an important part of you, but eventually you heal, and your form changes to make allowances for the loss. I have become more dependant on others and ever so slightly more involved with the carrying out of my plans, if only in my increased interest in how a plan is carried out as opposed to basing the overall success solely on the outcome.

March 2010 is the rebirth of L when I take on a small-scale case involving a serial arsonist that seems to enjoy leaving some kind of personal DNA at every scene in exchange for a limb of each of the victims. The strange thing about this guy, however, is that there is no record of the DNA in any system in any country; in other words, he's either a criminal that has never been caught or a random citizen that has suddenly acquired an interest in burning people alive in broad daylight. This series of arsons take place in the Manhattan area.

Despite the apparent difficulty of the case, I manage to solve it in just less than two weeks. It's obvious once I'd searched the Manhattan area for outstanding citizens who had gone missing or unaccounted for at the times the fires had started who also had a blue 1987 Dodge Dakota. Dan Dodge, age 32, recently divorced and estranged by his parents had lost everything. I had found he'd always had a fascination with fire, which had increased in severity as soon as his wife, Amanda, had demanded a divorce, who had gone missing a month ago only to show up, burnt to death.

Amazing, a man so in love that he'd burn his loved one and complete strangers in his insanity. If he had woken up in the middle of one of his arsons, what would he have done? Instead, we had no choice but to treat his insanity.

And now I stand with Commander Rester in front of the building that is the Lair of L the third, Near, Nate Rivers. It's rather large as far as buildings go, but not to conspicuous, about twenty floors. It's one of ten around the world that I'll be using. After all, I can't stay in one place for too long, lest someone unfriendly find me. It is now mid-June and it is my last week in America; we leave for Germany next Thursday, but I must wrap up a few cases before the move.

**Thanks for reading - please make sure to review and watch for the final chapter, coming soon! :)**

**Love you guys.**


	13. Forever Rest

**Alright, so I want to thank you all for reading this fiction. This is the last chapter, and I have to apologize in advance for it... But I'll save it for later.**

**My final thoughts on this story: It's my very first Death Note fanfiction, and the first story I've finished in years. I'm very glad that I've been able to share it with you all, and you all have been so encouraging!**

**And I'll save the rest for the end. Without further ado, Je vous presente: Forever Rest.**

January 26, 2020, London, Near's HQ. Working four cases at once has never usually been a problem for me, not even when Oliver is yapping on and on about one of his. The poor kid; ever since we had found him and had selected him as my successor, his excitement has never seemed to wear off. This isn't a problem, but it gives me a headache sometimes.

"... and so I thought that the one guy might have been responsible, but one little piece didn't fit, and then I realized he'd been framed! I couldn't believe that, but when I looked into it further, he hadn't been framed, but had set it up to look like he'd been framed! Well, now, that I should have seen coming 'cuz I never really liked the guy in the first place, oh, what was his name?"

"Oliver," I interrupt. "Quiet, please."

The boy's narrow eyes widened. "Oh, sorry!" he whispered, spinning the chair he was sitting on around with a leg, shuffling over closer to me, mostly closing the twenty foot gap between us. "Is something wrong, L? L seems distracted."

I stare at the screens in front of me as I fiddle with the rosary beads at my waist. "No, everything is normal," I answer slowly, shuffling my weight on the patch of ground that I'm currently stationed on. "But, yes, I am quite distracted."

Oliver spins his chair around to lean over the back. "Why is L distracted?"

I look over to him, narrowing my eyes in thought. "Do you have any recollection of Raine?" I ask simply.

Oliver's eyes lit up. "Oh, yeah, Raine went missing last month, didn't he? That explains why L hasn't been himself all month. Hmm…" he trails off, thinking. "Perhaps some food would cheer up L?"

"No thank you, I'm not hungry." I look back at the screens when something catches my attention and I shuffle over to the offending monitor.

"Oh, okay... Would L be okay if I went and got some, then?"

I shrug in response, and I shortly hear his footsteps leaving the room and then the sound of the door opening and shutting behind him.

January 26th is my least favorite day; it is the tenth anniversary of his death. Add to that that Raine's gone missing. He'd run away in the commotion of New Year's Eve, despite his being unwell as of recently. By not well, I mean mentally; ever since five years ago, he's slowly been changing and not for the better. Now as an eighteen-year-old, fully developed and brilliant, I know he would have no trouble supporting himself, but I can't help but be worried, especially because of the last five years.

What happened five years ago? Not only had Oliver been chosen as successor, but also the rest of the children who had been old enough to leave had left. Raine had been thirteen at the time, so he had stayed behind but all of those who might be deemed his friends had left him behind without so much as a goodbye. At that time, I had been unable to visit for an extended period.

The new principal of Wammy's House, Charlene, had informed me that he had been holing himself up in his room and that his hobbies had turned from inventing and schoolwork to the more macabre side of life; dissecting small birds and animals he'd found around the grounds, reading novels that had a strong smell of violence and gore.

These signs alone should have tipped the woman off. Charlene was smart enough, but she had left him alone to tend to more pressing matters in the orphanage.

Then, December 31st, he'd disappeared. The final time I'd visited the orphanage with him there had been just about six months previously, and I could tell that he was just not the same. Mello's spitting image of a brother was slowly losing his mind and I had begun making arrangements for him to be transferred to a rehabilitation center. The best facility had a long waiting list of about a year, but for L, they would make sure to get my charge in as soon as they could.

When we'd received word that they finally could have him come in on January 3rd, 2020, I had made sure that Charlene let him know about a week before so he could start the process of packing up and saying goodbye. However, I'd heard from the woman that he hadn't enjoyed that news at all and had broken every mirror and window in his room with his bare hands. And then he'd run away, leaving no trace or hint as to his destination.

I glance at the clock which shows 3:12 PM. Deborah and Mihail are due for a visit at 3:30, and Oliver's snack breaks can be quite lengthy, upwards of an hour so I know I'll be alone for a while, at least twenty minutes. I pick up one of the robots scattered around me and begin to play some form of super hero charade.

A few moments pass when the door opens and someone comes in, Oliver assumedly, but I don't turn to look. Instead I continue with my toys. Footsteps slowly walk over closer to me, and I realize that this isn't Oliver. This isn't Deborah, Watari, Mihail, Rester, Lidner or Gevanni.

I hear a small laugh come from the intruder. "_You're _L?" the voice snakes slowly, chilling in tone. I recognize that tone, and my eyes widen as my body freezes. "Should have guessed."

I slowly put down the toys and stand to my feet, back still towards him. "Raine," I respond, hearing my voice remain expressionless, "where the hell have you been?"

The blond laughs harshly as I turn to look at him. He still looks like himself except for the few bruises up his exposed arms. Despite its being January, he still wears his shorts and long blue t-shirt. I note a small red stain on the corner of his shirt. "I've been around, looking for L," he explains quietly, grinning. "And I finally found him." He comes closer to me until he's a foot away from my face and I note the colourless skin and blood-shot eyes. "It took a little doing, but I finally found you my dear predecessor." His breaths are quick and labored, and I can tell that he's nervous. Either that or he's excited.

"Raine," I don't know what he wants here, but I have to at least calm him down. "What's going on?"

Suddenly a hand grabs the front of my shirt, forcing me forward. He's grown so much that he's quite a tall individual so my eyes stare at his shoulders and his lips are at my ear. "I'll tell you what's going on; today is L's last day on earth. Ten years after his death, the one truly responsible for it will die."

My eyes widen and dart to look at him as best I can. I feel my body begin to tense and shake very slightly, almost undetectable and I try to speak, but my voice fails. I hear the swoosh of a knife come out of Raine's pocket and unsheathe itself.

"Can't we talk about this, first, Raine?" I whisper after a moment, almost sensing that knife coming closer and closer to me.

The boy laughs hysterically. "Talk! Talk he says!" He pushes me onto the floor roughly and I hit my head, dizzying my sight. I feel him lean over me on his knees and I catch a glint of silver hovering over my face. "The time for talk is done," he spits.

He grabs my shirt again and throws me again and throws me against the desk planted on a wall where my head is hit once again. The pain is overwhelming and confusing. I can barely think as the intense pain saturates my mind. He leaves me to squirm for a moment, and some thinking ability returns to me when I realize that he's thrown me near a panic button. In the event that one of my enemies found me, I had installed ten panic buttons in this room, all an arm span apart. And so, with all the pain it's hard to move at all, but I force myself to slam into that button and an alarm sounds within the building.

Raine swears loudly as he slams his fist into my face again, making my world spin and knocking me to the ground. I feel the wetness of blood in my mouth and I spit it out, trying to roll onto all fours but Raine presses my body to the floor with a knee. I lay on my back, looking into those eyes that mirror Mello's, and then I feel the intense heat of pain of a knife somewhere in my torso, and again, and again.

And my vision goes black, though my consciousness hasn't fled. The pain mutes my voice and slowly I feel my limbs go numb, though the pain in my chest is still so sharp. Time passes in a flash and I am alone, though I can hardly tell.

Suddenly, I hear a shriek. "NEAR!" Hands grip me and hold me. "Near, Near!"

I can recognize that voice. "D-d-"

Deborah holds me with one arm, and I can feel her fingers on my face, trying to keep me focused on her, trying to get me to look at her, not that I can see anything at all. "Shh, Near, it's going to okay, okay? Mihail! Mihail! Call 911! Get Roger!"

"Mom?" I hear the boy's voice from just outside the door.

"Don't come in here, honey, just go get Roger and call 911 right now!"

"Is Near okay?"

"Mihail Matthew Jeevas, just do what I ask! Now!"

I labor breaths, shallow and quick. It becomes harder and harder. "Deb," I manage to squeeze out, and her grip on me tightens.

"Near, oh shit, please, just don't give up."

I feel a warm drop of liquid drip onto my face from above. Some of my vision returns and I see Deborah's face, covered in blood and tears, her wide eyes staring. With what little strength I have, I lift a hand to wipe some of the tears away, though I leave a trail of blood in their place.

My hand drops and my body completely numbs. "This is best," I croak out, beginning to slow my breath.

"No! Near! Don't give up!" She begins to shriek, but my brain slowly begins to shut off.

The last little bit of strength I've got leaves as I wrap my hand in that rosary.

And I breathe my last as I go to meet Mello.

Mu awaits. Everlasting rest for the everlastingly restless mind.

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**I'm sorry, but please DON'T KILL ME. **

**That out of the way, thank you for reading! I really appreciate all of the support! Please be sure to watch for more fics. I plan on writing a few one-shots before I get onto my next fic which is more BB centered. **

**Thanks especially to my reviewers! 0mohni0, Raine Ishida, TUL Angel, K-Danuve, nataree, ItsukoLawliet, Josephine Falnor, and everyone else - THANK YOU I LOVE YOU FOREVER.**

**And as one last request~! For everyone who read the entire story, I would like some constructive feedback. I'll make it easy - Please rate out of five: ****Grammar/Spelling, Originality, Characters, and Tone, as well as an Overall Rating out of 10.**

**By the bye, my girlfriend and I did a Deborah Cosplay Photoshoot - it'll be going up on my Deviantart account soon (the link is on my profile as my website), so be sure to check that soon!**

**I love you guys so much! I'm so glad that you read to the end, including this rant of an Author's Note! **


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